


MirkWOOD Studios Proudly Presents . . .

by Sans_Souci



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Room Brawl, Comedy, Community: hobbit_kink, Crack, Drunk Texting, Drunkenness, Ensemble Cast, Everyone is probably not in character, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Folk Music, Gen, Humor, I'm Sorry, Kink Meme, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, My mind is a sewer, Name-Calling, Object Insertion, Oh gawd it has eaten my brain, Other, Out of Character, Porn Video, Pornstars, Refuge in audacity, Slice of Life, Sorry Not Sorry, Weight Issues, a lot of texting, random ass shit au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Sans_Souci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn Industry AU. Azog and Bilbo are porn stars and the film they are starring in might not look out of place as a non-con/dub-con fic. But their on-screen personas are nothing like their off-screen personalities. Bilbo is the sassiest star there and doesn't take shit from anyone and Azog is working his way through a university degree.</p><p>Featuring: Everyone and the Kitchen Sink. (I lied--the sink only makes a cameo.)</p><p>Health and Safety: It is advised that food and drink should not be consumed during reading. Fanfic writers are not liable for damage to keyboards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Making of Defiler III

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Industry AU prompt on the Hobbit-kink meme: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=10845154#t10845154
> 
>   _Azog and Bilbo are porn stars, and the film they are starring in might not look out of place as a non-con/dub-con fic on this very meme. But their on-screen personas are nothing like their offscreen personalities. Bilbo is the sassiest star there and doesn't take shit from anyone, and Azog is working his way through a university degree._
> 
> Warnings: Porn movies, object-insertion, faked non-con, that whole _it’s only non-con at first_ trope even if it is a porno, sex talked about as the most pedestrian thing ever.
> 
> Finally edited and proof-read as work has been a bit busy after I got back from vacation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, no!” Bilbo cried as he was thrown down onto a pile of furs in the orc’s den and pinned by one large callused hand. The Defiler’s other hand scrabbled at his trousers even as the orc leaned in and a long tongue flickered out to lick at the tear tracks on his cheek.

“Oh yes, little hobbit, you will be singing a different tune when I’m done with you,” the Defiler growled.

“Okay, cut!” Elrond called from the side-lines. “We’ll break for five minutes to move the cameras in for the close-ups. And get your trousers off, Bilbo, the seams need to be cut.” 

The studio lights went on and the elven technicians got on with adjusting the cameras and lights for the money shots.

Azog extended a massive hand to Bilbo, who was no longer crying as he accepted the orc’s help to get up. Bilbo was just glad that they had fake fur rugs now--his allergies had made filming virtually impossible when they had real ones on set. Top billing had its advantages after all, as did the ability to go all teary-eyed on command.

“Are you all right? It wasn’t too rough, was it?”

The unusually tall orc, currently sharing top-billing as “The Defiler”, tended to look apologetic whenever he had to ravish someone. It had taken him forever to stop apologising for it, but he still turned away politely whenever his co-stars were half-way into their dressing gowns or taking their trousers off like Bilbo was at the moment.

Bilbo Baggins, star of _Horny Hobbits of the Shire I, II and III_ , was usually amused when his co-star looked away sheepishly from his exposed body between takes. But then again, Azog was working his way through uni and not in it for the long haul. Thranduil had to move fast if he wanted to finish _Defiler III_. So far, Azog had defiled elves, dwarves and was on to hobbits now.

“It’s supposed to look rough. Get some buttons popping and cloth ripping,” Bilbo said as he accepted a cup of tea from Dori and handed him the trousers to be altered by their very compact wardrobe department. Standing around between takes was not his idea of fun, but there were other things to do while the cameras were reset--like weakening the seams of his trousers so that they would rip convincingly. MirkWOOD Studios made quality wank material after all--none of that amateur shaky camcorder stuff that looked like some hack filmed it in his flat with a supply of cheap rippable thin t-shirts. Azog was only wearing a loincloth in his role as the Defiler, so he just had to whip it out for the right camera at the right time.

“If you say so,” Azog murmured as he took a swig of his Lucozade. “It was a right bother to rip dwarven chainmail off no matter how many links they cut in it. Took five takes to get it right.”

“Probably won’t take that much strength to rip hobbit trousers off,” Bilbo said with a wave of his hand. “It looked good at any rate.”

“Thanks, I think,” Azog said and fidgeted with his drink bottle. All the licking and growling had to be added into the script--threatening and perverse gestures did not come to Azog naturally.

“How’s the degree going?” Bilbo asked as Lindir adjusted the main camera and Bofur from props artfully arranged some extra toys around the set. Good old Bofur, he had managed to get a dildo that looked like a bone. But Bilbo was not going to bring that up now--it was usually best to keep conversation to general topics, for Azog might blush whenever risqué issues were brought up. Now a pink orc was a sight to behold, but waiting for Azog’s flush to die down wasted too much time and Elrond would be livid at the delay.

“’s all right,” Azog said. “I’ve got a supervisor for my final year. But I need more cash for the field trips and fees for next semester.”

“Field trips--because you’re majoring in geology, right?” Bilbo was pleased that he remembered that much about his co-star. It paid to be on good terms with the people who were going to ride his hobbity ass--especially when they were Azog’s size.

“Yeah, we’re going to examine the strata formation in some caves--a bit like that,” Azog said, nodding at the orc den set, which had been painstaking created in polystyrene by Gloin and painted to resemble a real cave hewn from rock. Dwarves did know their caves after all. “Only without all the bones strewn about. Erm, is that a bone dildo?”

“Yup. For variety. Old Elrond knows what he’s doing,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of his tea. It was just how he liked it--with milk and three sugars. “He’s an old pro and he got Bofur to make some just for this series after that thing with the tree branch got rave reviews in _Defiler I_.”

Elrond’s ability to get dwarves to work to the best of their ability under his direction was MirkWOOD Studios greatest asset. And orcs, humans and hobbits too. Elrond’s value as a director was not to be underestimated.

Which was why Bilbo handed his tea off to Dori and took his trousers back when Elrond called for everyone to get back into their places. The orc and hobbit extras were not needed for this bit, so they could go off to film the non-porny exposition bits with Lindir. Thranduil liked his plots to be slightly thicker than toilet paper and they were paying the extras for the day’s work after all.

Down on the fur rugs again, Bilbo and Azog arranged themselves to Elrond’s satisfaction.

“All right, you rip my trousers clean off and Elrond will probably want a shot of you groping me before flipping me over, so you do what you can until I tap you on the knee with my foot,” Bilbo instructed his co-star, who was not a natural at this ravishing business even though he _looked_ the part. “Then you’ll move onto fingering me. Or maybe we should use the dildo . . . Elrond--bone dildo now or later?”

“Don’t make him blush, Baggins,” Elrond called from behind the camera. “I want to finish this scene by the end of today. And save the bone dildo for later.”

Fortunately for Elrond, Bilbo was a _professional_ and he knew that the elf knew it too. But a director had to be seen to have everyone in hand and everything under control.

“Keep your hair on,” he shot back, getting ready to go all weepy again. “Oh, no--”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Showered and refreshed after a long shoot involving getting ravished six ways into next week, Bilbo dressed and set his hat on his head at a jaunty angle. He was pleased with the day’s work and Elrond had kept to his schedule.

So he was surprised when he saw some of the dwarves hanging around the prop department on his way out.

“Not overtime again?” he asked as he stopped by Bofur’s station.

“I wish it was,” Gloin muttered.

“Well it’s pay-day, innit?” Bofur said as he put away the toys into their special custom cases. “But it’s already past five o’clock and we’ve not seen our pay.”

Oh right, no wonder everyone looked slightly put out. “Really now? Looks like it’s time to see what Thrandy’s up to,” Bilbo murmured and made his way to the business end of MirkWOOD Studios.

As it turned out, there was already a congregation comprised of Balin from accounts, Dwalin from security and Elrond clustered around Tauriel, Thranduil’s secretary and appointment booker outside his office.

“Ah, Master Baggins,” Balin intoned when Bilbo joined them. “You’ve heard.”

Bilbo suspected that Balin was a major shareholder in MirkWOOD Studios, but the old dwarf was too canny and too discrete to let anything slip. His brother ran security and kept order in the studio, but even the tall brawny dwarf was looking put out today.

“Yeah, we don’t want a riot on our hands, especially since we’ve got, I don’t know, how many extras on set today?” Bilbo asked, voicing Dwalin’s obvious concerns.

“But Thranduil is still interviewing a potential new talent,” Tauriel said, torn between not wanting to disturb her boss and wanting her pay cheque. “You know how he gets when he feels like he’s got a winner.”

“Yeah, I know, love, let me handle it,” Bilbo said, skipping past Tauriel’s long legs and barging into Thranduil’s office.

“Let him talk to Thranduil--I’m beat after twelve hours of filming Azog’s dick from six different angles,” Elrond muttered to Tauriel. “And old Thranduil likes the hobbit’s sass.”

“Oi, Thrandy, has all that peroxide addled your brain?” Bilbo demanded as he strode into the elf’s traditional Japanese themed office. “It’s pay-day for the love of-- _oh_.”

The producer of MirkWOOD _oh-ha-ha-did-you-see-that-pun_ Studios had to drag his eyes away from his guest and Bilbo could not, in all honesty, blame him. The shirtless dwarf Thranduil was talking to was _cut_. And he had a lovely mane of dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes too, but that ass was the thing that was going to sell DVDs like hotcakes if they put some leather chaps on it.

Screw the leather chaps, that ass would appeal to all audiences over a range of ages too.

“Bilbo Baggins, star of the _Horny Hobbits_ series,” Thranduil said by way of introduction. “Thorin’s auditioning. Now, darling, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“But do you hear your workers sing, singing the song of pissed off dwarves and orcs?” Bilbo asked. “Elrond isn’t going to be able to hold them together to finish filming _Defiler III_ at this rate.”

“Oh all right,” Thranduil said, hauling out a thick envelope containing the pay cheques from his desk. “I didn’t forget,” he added for the benefit of his interviewee.

Thranduil might give the impression of being a dyed-blond airhead who would shag anything that moved, but behind that artfully created façade was a canny player who would weigh the pros and cons before shagging someone or putting them into his productions. He never forgot a pay-day, but he might make Bilbo come to him for it to gauge the temperament of his employees.

“Well you’d better not,” Bilbo said, hamming it up for the newcomer. “You know what it’s like to have to put a kid through uni and Azog’s got to pay the fees for the next semester. Nori and Dori are putting their kid brother through art school too.”

This was to assure the dwarf that they were just a regular bunch of blokes working for a pay cheque, just like everyone else. Which was the truth, after all. It just got a little complicated when it came to Nori, their procurer, who could get them practically everything for rock-bottom prices because of his shady past. But hey, MirkWOOD Studios was all for reformed criminals and slightly impoverished uni students.

“Of course, of course--Bilbo is all antsy because he and Azog are filming our latest series,” Thranduil informed his potential new talent. “You might have seen it, but it’s very popular amongst the ladies for some reason.”

 _Some reason, his arse_ , Bilbo thought to himself. Thranduil was fully aware of what floated the boats of elven ladies, dwarf ladies, hobbit ladies and yes, human women too.

“It’s also not easy to find a stand-in for a six-foot tall albino orc with a dick the size of a salami either,” Bilbo said. He grinned to himself when the newcomer flushed at this--fresh meat was rather fun to tease.

“And you wonder why I don’t let Legolas come visit me at work,” Thranduil muttered. “Uncle Bilbo’s potty mouth!”

“Thrandy, my mouth makes you more money than most arseholes,” Bilbo pointed out. He did so enjoy these exchanges with the producer though. By the look of it, Thranduil was about to sign on a new talent. If this dwarf had the goods, Thrandy might even give him his own series.

“Then you should go suck something now,” Thranduil said pointedly before redirecting his attention to the dwarf. “Now where was I? Oh right, I was thinking of a part for you in _Horny Hobbits of the Shire IV_ \--you’ll be perfect as the blacksmith who wanders into the Shire and sets up shop there.”

“Then you roger some horny hobbits into next Wednesday,” Bilbo supplied helpfully. “Over an anvil or something. Then there’ll be a foot-job in there somewhere because it’s a trademark of the _Horny Hobbits_ series--”

Thranduil raised his manicured brows and pointed at the door. It did not stop Bilbo from making up a rhyme on the spot and singing it as he walked out of Thranduil’s office.

_Old King Thrandy, so blond and dandy,  
But hot dwarves, they make him randy!_

“Piss off, Baggins,” Thranduil said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Bilbo leered at his potential future co-star before closing the door and went to deliver the pay-cheques to Balin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. The Making of Horny Hobbits of the Shire IV

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Panning out while Thorin hammers, good,” Elrond said from behind the lens. “Thorin, keep glaring at that lump of iron like it owes you money.”

The scene was a village smithy and the blacksmith was all muscular and sweaty--the perfect set-up for _Horny Hobbits of the Shire IV: A Banging in the Smithy_.

In other words, it was an ordinary day at MirkWOOD Studios.

After Thorin had undergone the mandatory medical screening and compulsory background check, Thranduil had wasted no time in getting the script of _Horny Hobbits IV_ ready for filming.

Everyone suspected that he had a team of writers chained in a basement somewhere and forced to turn his ideas into something Elrond could actually film.

Bilbo had to admit that Thorin Oakenshield looked very good as a pissed off blacksmith though. He got an eyeful while hanging around on set as he got his make-up done and waited for his scenes.

In the longer interval between shots of him being a bachelor hobbit of the Shire and the hobbit getting a right seeing to, he had a visit from his agent, Gandalf. A product of the hippy era, Gandalf found it convenient to act more like the doddering old man he resembled. He even smoked a pipe that looked more than just a little suspicious to add to the effect.

It was just pipe-weed, Bilbo knew. The old coot liked people to underestimate him. He had helped a younger Bilbo find his way in the seedy realm of pornography and advised him that _T. Baggins_ was not the best name for a porn actor-- _Much too obvious, my dear fellow, much too obvious_.

“My dear Bilbo, how are things with you?” Gandalf asked in his patented faux absent-minded old uncle style when he found Bilbo in the dressing room. Dressed in a dapper pink jacket and a sliver scarf, he looked like a member of the elderly homosexual brigade--which he probably was a part of. “It’s _Horny Hobbits of the Shire IV_ now, yes?”

“Yeah, Gandalf,” Bilbo said, trying not to snort at this act. Gandalf was probably also here to negotiate Bilbo’s part in _Horny Hobbits V_ \--he hoped that his agent would get him a dressing room of his own. “Couldn’t be better. We’ve got newbie on set. Pretty to look at, but a really awkward new actor though. He’s got Thrandy all het up because Thrandy likes dwarf dick more than he lets on.”

“Thranduil wouldn’t mess around with his actors,” Gandalf said in a rare moment of actually being himself. “He’s got his eye on his profit margins.”

“Yeah, so maybe Thorin Oakendick--I mean Oakenshield--is different.” Bilbo stirred his tea and crossed his legs. “What brings you to this neck of the woods in person, pun sincerely not intended?”

“I’ve had a call from White Tower Productions,” Gandalf began.

“And you told them _no_?” Bilbo asked as his teaspoon stopped moving.

“I told them no. That sort of stuff is not up your hobbit hole.”

Oh wow, his sass was rubbing off on Gandalf, who was already pretty big drama queen--not that you knew it from looking at him.

“Damned straight it’s not up my hobbit hole! Did you see the things they put up holes in those productions of Saruman’s?” Bilbo stirred his tea vigorously and shuddered. The hardcore BDSM that White Tower Productions put out was . . . really targeted for a specific audience. Especially if you liked leather and spikes on everything including the Uruk-hai. Really, really on everything, which was why Bilbo always said no. He might specialise in being a weepy hobbit bottom, but spikes did not go there.

The worst part was Saruman, Gandalf’s sometimes friend and fellow refugee from the hippy era. He kept trying to poach Bilbo for White Tower Productions. But Bilbo had steadfastly refused to turn to the dark side, no matter how many gold cock-rings Saruman wanted to add in to sweeten the deal.

“My dear fellow, why else do you think I refused?” Gandalf asked indignantly. “I would never ask my people to do anything out of their comfort zone.”

“What? Including signing up as porn actors?” Bilbo asked nastily. Gandalf had the grace to cough in an embarrassed fashion at this jib. 

Bilbo looked up as Lindir stuck his head in to round up the actors for the next scene. “Well, it’s my take--I get fingered and deep-dicked over a workbench in this one. Want to watch?”

Gandalf coughed again and excused himself to go speak to Thranduil.

Bilbo got the rest of his costume on--a real country gentlemen’s waistcoat and a velvet jacket--and went to work after Dori checked him over.

But things were not going so well on set. They had got to the bit when the blacksmith had the hobbit over the workbench and had divested him of his trousers, but Thorin was hesitating over the next part. And Elrond had stopped filming.

“Okay, nerves, yeah, we know. So can we take it from the top again and you thrust in--and Bilbo, you look into camera two when he does it, all right?” the director asked. “Give your best face for it.”

“Got it,” Bilbo said from where he was playing the hobbit that had made the grumpy dwarven blacksmith lose his cool and was now in for a jolly hard rogering.

But Thorin was suffering from more than just newbie nerves. It seemed to take him a while to grasp the acting and fucking part--as in he had to do both at once.

And Elrond had stopped filming _again_.

Sometimes, it was all Bilbo could do not to jump up and yell, “Oh just stick it in for fuck’s sake!”

“Thorin, you’ve got to be . . . rougher. You’re a solitary blacksmith and you’re sexually frustrated because you bang iron all day long and don’t get laid,” Elrond said evenly despite the fact that he had that look on his face that implied he was having a headache but was holding it in. “Until those annoying hobbits drive you over the edge and you just snap. You have to show a little more passion--and anger!”

And then they reset the scene again. And again. At this rate, Bilbo was going to need more lube.

The result of the repeated takes was Thorin really losing his temper and Bilbo getting the boning of his life in the fifth take. He almost forgot to yell when he came, he was vibrating that hard from the dicking.

Thorin looked up at the wide eyes and open mouths of the director, camera crew and set-dressers and turned dark red. “Sorry, I’m sorry--got carried away. Bilbo, did I--”

“No harm, no foul,” Bilbo said, carefully getting up onto his feet. “Now if you could do that without actually needing to be goaded into a temper, that’d be great! Right, Elrond?”

“Uh, yes!” The elf had to shake himself to concentrate on his actors again. “On camera, it looked very good. Don’t take so long to get there next time.”

“Is that really me?” Thorin wondered as they watched the raw footage from the three cameras behind Elrond. It was a pretty good scene, all things considered.

“Yeah, you’re a natural-born smoulderer, you are,” Bilbo said thoughtfully as he looked at Thorin’s electrifying performance. It had certainly felt very intense being on the receiving end, which fitted the whole repressed blacksmith thing. “Bound to set Thrandy’s petticoats on fire.”

Things went much more smoothly after that. Until they got to the object-insertion-for-variety bit.

Thorin scrutinised the anvil on the smithy set. “Is this a real anvil?”

“What do you mean?” Elrond asked, leaning over the side of the rig to look at the dwarf.

“I mean I can’t be a party to this if it is a real anvil.”

“Is it religious or something?” Bilbo whispered to Nori, who had sidled up to the set with Bofur in case anything needed replacing in his unobtrusive way.

“No, but it’s a matter of respecting the tools of a craftsman, y’ken?” Nori looked at the anvil in question. “A conservative dwarf wouldn’t use his tools for that sort of thing.”

“So Thorin is a conservative dwarf?”

“Not by the standards of the real fundamentalists,” Nori said patiently. “It’s not something we discuss very often, but you do realise that he’s making dirty pictures for an elf, right?”

“Oh, right.” Bilbo paused and looked at the smithy set again “Nori, is that a real anvil?”

“Well, it’s _mostly_ a real anvil,” Nori admitted. “Except that bit where Bofur and Gloin replaced the horn with a rubber one. Never been used to do real smithing, so I don’t know if it _counts_ as a real anvil.”

Bilbo looked the horn of the anvil with careful consideration. “Did I ever tell you that I love you? All of you, including Bofur and Gloin?”

“Not nearly enough, you don’t. Ah, looks like they’ve got it sorted out.”

After Bofur and Elrond had confirmed that it was not a real anvil _of course-real-anvils-do-not-have-rubber-parts_ , they could get on with the scene. Which required five minutes to work out, logistically speaking, what went where and _how_.

Thorin blushed a lot and Bilbo broke out in a fit of giggles twice in the process, which set everyone off until Elrond called them to order to get the scene done.

Bilbo was not required for the last take of the day--the popular foot-job of the series was going to be done by two of his co-stars this time. To spice things up a little, the script had a double-team foot-job lined up.

Without the proper coordination, it sounded like an accident just waiting to happen--which was why Bilbo stuck around to watch after his shower. He did not find out if Thorin was approaching the scene with trepidation, because they were interrupted at the beginning of the shoot.

“Hullo, someone’s mobile is ringing. Who’s got _The Song of the Misty Mountain_ as a ringtone?” Dori asked as he stuck his head out of the main dressing room where everyone stashed their stuff and leeched electricity from the studios to charge their phones.

“Sorry--it’s mine. I have to take this call,” Thorin said hurried and ran back to the dressing room.

This provoked some comment from Bilbo’s hobbit co-stars, for they were professionals and did not like tardiness. 

“Hey, are we on a schedule? Elrond? Rori an’ I already worked out how to do this without mashing the poor sod’s meat and two veg between us.”

“Look, Ah already moisturised mah feet and everythin’!”

Minutes later, Thorin came back to the set post-haste for the foot-job scene.

“Sorry, that was my sister and nephews. They don’t know what my job is,” he informed Elrond quickly. Thorin looked so guilty that there were murmurs from all around as the others commiserated with him. Almost everyone had gone through that stage before--when you were too ashamed to tell your relatives and friends about your work.

“Weel, it’s a livin’,” Rori “The Buck” Brandybuck said philosophically. “And your lads’ll thank you some day. Elrond, are we doing the foot-job now or wot?” 

In the end, Elrond got all his money shots--without any painful accidents--and they got the trademark foot-job done just in time for five o’clock. Which meant that Thorin could dash off to buy dinner and get groceries for his sister and two ravenous nephews.

“Aww, bless, if only more families stuck together these days an’ had dinner more often,” Rori said sentimentally as everyone packed up to leave. 

Gandalf found Bilbo just as he was about to exit the studios, looking most pleased with himself as he puffed on his pipe. “Oh Bilbo, there you are. I got you a dressing room--might be a bit on the small side though. And I signed on a new actor for the Greyhame Pilgrims.”

“Cheers, Gandalf--treat yourself to champagne tonight. Who are you managing now?”

“You might know him, seeing how he was cock-deep in you earlier today,” Gandalf said with a twinkle in his grey eyes--proving yet again that the old codger had an eye for talent and was an opportunist to boot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They managed to finish _Horny Hobbits IV_ just in the nick of time--or before Elrond pulled his hair out in frustration. Haldir was probably glued to a chair somewhere editing the footage even as everyone gathered for the post-production boozer.

Which was then co-opted by Thranduil for a MirkWOOD Studios general meeting--it certainly caused some talk amongst the actors and crews.

“Maybe he wants to talk to us about making _Forests of Fangorn_ ,” Rori said hopefully.

“Yeah, a tree-shagger making a porno about hobbits being shagged by trees--obvious much?” Bilbo pointed out.

“Well, we could knock up a mechanical Ent--” Bofur began, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a familiar tall figure.

“Look, that’s Azza. Hey Azza!”

Azog--now affectionately known as “Azza” or “Pinky” by the crew and the other actors--waved shyly.

“Aren’t ya supposed to be lookin’ at some rocks out in the field right now?” Will Whitfoot asked. “Or is Thrandy trying to make _Defiler IV_?”

“Thranduil called me in. Said he had big news,” Azog said. “And this is my day off from field studies. Our supervisor’s gone off to observe hedgehog mating patterns for his research again.”

“Sounds like fun. Eh, how do hedgehogs do it anyhow?”

“Oh noe--now Ah’ll be stuck thinkin’ about hedgehog buggery--”

“So what else is new, Rori?”

The din was curtailed by the appearance of Thranduil, who swanned in in what looked like a silk kimono with his cheekbones leading the way as usual. He finally deigned to address the assembled crew and was greeted by the usual chorus of heckling.

“Ladies--”

“Speak fer yerself!”

“--and gentlemen,” Thranduil continued, ignoring the jeering. “It is my pleasure to announce that MirkWOOD Studios has been nominated for the AVAs.”

This was met with puzzled silence.

“In Westron, Thrandy!”

“The Adult Video Awards,” Tauriel supplied from behind Thranduil. “We’ve got nominations in at least half a dozen categories--including best newcomer for Azza.”

This was met with much more enthusiasm and Azog was congratulated by his fellow actors and crew.

“What, that thing where they give out golden dildos for awards?”

“Good on ya, Azza!””

“Okay, that’s nice, but why the meeting?” Bilbo asked, supplying the snark in an attempt to deflate Thrandy’s ego. “It’s not like you’ve won anything yet.”

“ _Fine_ \--drinks all around,” Thranduil said magnanimously. “Tauriel, get the key-codes for the wine cellar, if you please. And if we win anything, you all get to go on vacation for a week in my country abode--the actual Greenwood.” 

The whooping that accompanied this announcement was mainly for the alcohol, for no-one was particularly confident of winning any category. Everyone then proceeded to get royally plastered--which was easier when the boss kept barrels and kegs of booze under his office.

“Who keeps barrels of wine in the office?” Thorin wondered.

“Someone with a bank-grade vault door over his cellar--now drink up,” Dwalin replied.

In the middle of the general drunkenness, Bilbo got up on a table with a large bottle and yelled for attention. “All right, I wanna say this . . . Thrandy’s a right tosser, but he’s an okay boss at the end of the day--”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have,” Thranduil said, waving his wine glass languidly.

“Oi, I’m still talking! And if we win anything for _Horny Hobbits_ , I will give you the golden dildo. Scratch that--I will fuck myself with the golden dildo and you can film it,” Bilbo declared before popping the cork on the magnum of champagne and spraying it in most pornographic way possible over the producer to general cheering.

“Um, is it like this at all your parties?” Azog asked as he nursed his pint of shandy in the section of the room that was not aiming to get smashed in as short a time as possible.

“Oh yes, indeed--aren’t they a lively bunch?” Gandalf said over his red wine. 

“Are they always so casual with the producer, or is it just Bilbo Baggins?” Thorin had noticed it despite being on his third pint of beer.

Azog and the other newer actors looked at Gandalf. Gandalf looked at Elrond--who looked at the ceiling.

“You might want to ask Bilbo himself to tell that story,” Elrond said at last.

“Speak of the devil--”

“Haven’t played the devil before,” Bilbo said as he popped up in that sudden way that hobbits had mastered. “Did I hear my name? Have you all been gossiping?”

“Ah Bilbo,” Gandalf said cheerfully. “Your fellow actors have a question to ask you.”

Bilbo grew more sober as the question was repeated. “Oh _that_ \--well, to cut a long story short, when my parents passed away, I sort of cut loose and spent a lot of time wandering around Middle-Earth. Then I met Elrond--he sort of took me in for a while.”

The hobbit looked slightly nostalgic as he spoke of the past. “And when he finally told me that Thrandy was having issues with finding backers for his studio, I just decided to chip in.”

“By “chip in”, Master Baggins means enough for a twenty-five percent share in MirkWOOD Studios,” Balin informed them.

“But Bilbo, why are you working here--”

“Even though I’m not exactly hard up?” Bilbo filled in with a mirthless laugh. “I like the work. I like scandalising my respectable relations. I . . . really like hanging out here. With you lot.”

The silence that followed was epic. Of course, it could not last.

“All right, group-hug everyone!” Rori yelled. “Group-hug!”

There was then a great big dog-pile of sweaty and drunk actors and technical crew getting sentimental on each other--regardless of race or personal differences. The warm-fuzzy-wuzzies lasted approximately five seconds because Bilbo could not keep his mouth shut.

“You’re still a tosser, Thrandy.”

“And you’re still a pint-sized diva I could punt across the studio even while drunk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for “The Making of _Defiler IV_ ”~ (Uh, probably, I think.)
> 
>  _Forests of Fangorn_ was suggested by a lovely anon on the kink meme.
> 
> Hedgehog buggery references are credited to Terry Pratchett's Discworld.


	3. Outtakes: Slices of Life

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A Field Trip to the Trollshaws ___

“This way! Not far now!”

The field studies module was actually _required_ for final year students. Which explained the group of sweaty students stumbling after Radagast as he trotted over the rough terrain like a much younger man.

Azog and his fellow students served as the baggage convoy, half buried behind a plethora of sample boxes, sample tubes, notebooks, cameras and packed lunches.

Radagast . . . was eccentric if you were being kind and just plain batty if you were being unkind. He was the sort of scientist that would have been called a _naturalist_ a few hundred years ago and he was very interested in the natural world. Everything in the natural world. Geodes, trees, rivers, mushrooms, rabbits, bee migration patterns, ancient ruins, hedgehogs . . . and he actually brought his pet hedgehog Sebastian along for field trips. It was riding on his shoulder.

He _talked_ to his hedgehog. Sometimes, one of the undergrads could hear the hedgehog say something along the lines of, “Turn left at that great big tree . . . Walk along the embankment for twenty paces and cross the river.”

So far, their sentient GPS had brought them across a river, two streams and a long stretch of woodland before arriving at the foot of some mountains. One or two of the students were quietly plotting hedgehog homicide if they did not reach their destination soon.

Radagast was, however, a fairly informative instructor when he could concentrate on something. So far, they had got random facts about the butterflies that had crossed their path and three ways to utilise the common dock leaf. He finally got to the rock formation he wanted to show them--a cluster of three suspiciously humanoid shapes.

“Now these . . . These were trolls-- _Trollus cockneyus_ ,” Radagast said, going right up to the three figures. “They were turned to stone by sunlight, a phenomenon currently known as photo-fossilisation . . . The jury is still out on whether they _were_ living stone or still _are_ living stone. Classifying them under the previously known categories might not be valid in light of the research by Snorri son of Fnorri--”

“ _Which_ Snorri Fnorrison, sir?” an elf asked as she raised an elegant hand. “I mean, there must be around a hundred of them in the field of geology alone.”

“Snorri Fnorrison of Erebor University. I’m fairly certain he’s still alive. Why, I just spoke to him last month . . .” Radagast looked slightly uncertain at this point. “Or was it last year?”

Azog and his classmates dutifully took notes and took pictures of the trolls and with the trolls for Instagram because tweeting, “On a field trip to the Trollshaws--check this out” was so yesterday.

Then they went looking for some cave that Radagast was certain was somewhere in the area. It was then that they stumbled across a group of art students sitting on the slopes with easels and sketchpads.

And standing over them like a statue in alabaster, their mentor, the Lady of Lórien herself.

“Greetings, Radagast,” Galadriel said, serene as a still pond in the woods as she nodded to him graciously.

“Lady Galadriel!” Radagast looked both pleased and flustered as he bowed to her. “What brings you and your students out here?”

“They’re currently doing landscapes for our still-life module,” the elf said, gesturing at the majestic sweep of the mountains behind her. “There is nothing like the true inspiration of nature.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Radagast agreed. “We were looking for a particular cave in this--”

“Five minutes down the westward slope,” Galadriel said, pointing out the way. “And if your students would like to support our struggling artists, we always need more models for figure-drawing.”

“Oh good gracious,” Radagast murmured even as Sebastian ducked under his hood. “You had better ask them--it seems so--oh my . . .”

Galadriel smiled as he meandered off distractedly and handed his students her card. “I assure you that nothing unseemly happens during our figure-drawing classes.”

Azog and the others looked at the art students dubiously and edged away from the perfectly Zen figure of Galadriel. Everyone had heard about what the Lady of Lórien was capable of.

The art students continued to sketch the landscape with ferocious concentration. It was terrible being mentored by an elf that could basically read your mind, so _of course_ no-one thought about anything unseemly during nude figure-drawing. The worst bit was how she would not say _anything_ \--so she might have been smiling tranquilly at the dirty comics you were drawing before dropping a detailed critique about the composition into your head.

Ori sharpened his pencil and added a row of sweaty students trekking down the mountainside to his landscape. He did like doing portraits and nude figure-drawing--even though he did blush a lot whenever the models took their robes off--so he eagerly anticipated having new people of different species to sketch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Durin Family Values_

“They are paying _peanuts_ for freelancers these days,” Dís groused over the classifieds from the cramped living room of the two-bedroom flat that she shared with her sons and her brother.

It was poor lodgings, but this was all they could afford on their current budget--with Fíli and Kíli squashed up in one small bedroom, Dís in the other and Thorin on the fold-out sofa-bed. Fíli was already economising by staying at home instead of bunking at the hostel and commuting to his uni every day. His brother was likely to do the same once he finished at the polytechnic and applied for a university course. 

“How’s the job search going?” Thorin asked from where he was repairing the kitchen cabinet. The lads had left after dinner to work their evening shifts at the chippy and the petrol station down the road--the money was for extras like their computers and the wireless subscription. It was unfortunate, but their once-wealthy family was living in sadly reduced circumstances.

The decline of their family’s fortunes had started with Thorin’s grandfather and deteriorated from there. Then the dot-com revolution had come and gone while Dís had been raising her sons while working as a freelance webpage and graphics designer. Thorin had been a miner before getting laid off as the demand for coal decreased.

“Slow. They all seem to think that a mother is liable to take off at a moment’s notice or get pregnant at the drop of a hat,” Dís said with a snort. Now that her sons were finally grown up and mostly on the right track, Dis could focus on getting a full-time job that might help with their financial situation--things had been a little rough when the mines closed and Thorin had to look for other work. 

“You set them straight about that then,” Thorin grunted as he hammered another nail to hold the handles in place. There was no real question of her having more children as a mining accident had taken Fíli and Kíli’s dad a few years ago. “But some companies have got to be hiring designers and whatnot even in this economy.”

“Well, the pickings are slim for the steady jobs. I’m looking at this one . . . Webpage designer and maintainer for MirkWOOD Studios--”

The clatter from the kitchen and the muttered swearing that followed told Dís that her brother had dropped the hammer on his foot.

“What’s that again?” Limping and hopping, Thorin managed to get to the kitchen door and glare out at her. “What studios?”

“MirkWOOD Studios--”

“No!” 

Through the ensuing panic and the pain in his foot, Thorin became aware that his sister was staring at him.

“I mean, don’t they make pornos or something?” Thorin asked lamely. “That’s no place for a decent dwarrow to work--”

“I’m a widow with two grown sons--I don’t think I’m easily shocked,” Dís said. “Let have a look at their webpage . . . Oh yes, it needs a revamping all right.”

Thorin very carefully retreated to the kitchen and looked for a possible exit--or failing that, ways to kill himself.

He was considering opening his veins with the potato peeler when Dís called to him, sounding torn between laughter and disbelief.

“Thorin Durin--is there something you haven’t been telling me about your new job? Like why you’re suddenly Thorin Oakenshield and buggering hobbits?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Sometimes It’s Just A Penis_

In response to continuous staff complaints and faced with a shrinking bottom line, Balin had stretched the budget in a way that would make an elven gymnast green with envy just so that they could have Bofur's brother come in to do the catering on full shooting days. Productivity increased in almost direct proportion to the ribald jokes and banter that flew thick and fast in the canteen where the actors and crew members mingled.

“Ah, meat an’ two veg,” Rori Brandybuck sighed at his plate. “After a whole morning of it, at least there’s gravy now.”

“So you call your bits _meat and two veg_ because hobbits like food?” Bofur asked curiously.

“It’s just a . . . metaphor. Right? It’s a metaphor for your dangly bits,” Will Whitefoot said.

“But why not other foods? Like . . . Gherkin and pickled onions!” Bofur said, poking at his own plate idly.

“Sausage and boiled eggs,” Nori suggested.

“Cucumber and heirloom tomatoes--”

“Oi, you’ve put me right off mah feed!” Rori hollered in protest. “If it in’t enough that I hafta look at Will and Bilbo’s goolies all day long!”

“You didn’t complain the last five times!” Will retorted. “And what’s wrong with a nice name for them, eh?”

“Yeah, what d’you lot call ‘em then? The block and tackle?” Rori threw this challenge at the dwarves. “Or are they just yer stones?”

“It explains why you’re always polishin’ your stones,” Will chipped in with cheeky grin. “What about . . . the bolt and nuts?”

“The stalactites and stalagmites?” Azog suggested. He was obviously trying not to turn pink as everyone looked his way. “Because they hang down and point up . . .”

“You tried, Azza,” Nori said kindly as everyone who was not a dwarf looked puzzled. “But not many people appreciate a proper rock formation. Least of all hobbits.”

“We don’t live in caves, so excuse us for not knowing which rock is the one pointing up and which rock is the one hanging down,” Will huffed. “That’s a really good one though--if only you didn’t have to explain the joke . . .”

“The family jools, more like,” Rori continued. “It stands ta reason, because gemstones arra dwarf’s best friend.”

“That’s stereotypin’, that is,” Bofur said indignantly. “Besides, _gold_ is a dwarf’s best friend. Jewels are a dwarf’s _second_ best friend.”

“And that’s _not_ stereotypical?” Will asked, shaking his head ruefully. “Azza, what do orcs call ‘em then?”

“It’s just a penis,” Azog said, finally turning pink and looking into his plate.

“Indeed, vulgar metaphors aren’t required for every body part,” Lindir said with a sniff.

This was met by a round of jeers from the dwarves, orcs and hobbits present. 

“Do elves even use ‘em?” 

“And what would you call them then? The root and the Silmarils?”

“Oh no you didn’t!” Tauriel exclaimed as the elven contingent stopped eating.

“Oh yeah they so did!” the hobbits chorused, shamelessly egging on the inter-species competition.

Scarcely had the cry of “food fight!” erupted from the ranks when the kitchen door burst open.

“Don’t you dare! I’ll make you wasters lick up the lot from the floor!” Bombur threatened as he waddled out into the fray, swinging his ladle like a club. For food wastage was the sin of sins in Bombur’s eyes and no one, not even his own kin were exempt from that rule.

“Dammit, Bombur--not so loud!” Bofur said into the silence that followed. “Thrandy might get it into his head to film that!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Tea With No Sympathy_

Bilbo Baggins--gentlehobbit of means, porn star and all-around snarky little bastard--lived a mostly uneventful life on weekends in his comfortable hobbit-hole. Or to use the term that was less likely to receive snickers at work, his _smial_. He baked seedcakes, read his books and did the little bits of gardening that his gardener purposely left for him to do so that he could look like he was actually gardening.

Recently, he had been considering writing a book about his experiences--his _memoirs_ \--and he had been reorganising the collection of trinkets and memorabilia as he researched his life. It was on one of these weekends that his agent paid a call to Bag End at Bilbo’s request.

Gandalf visited sometimes on weekends for business, looking over accounts and having tea with his hobbit client, who could always be counted upon to lay a good table and have some decent pipe-weed on hand while being ever ready to skewer his acquaintances at the slightest provocation.

In hindsight, Gandalf should have been more suspicious at the invitation as Bilbo seemed positively chipper as he poured the tea and handed out the scones that day.

“I was looking through my Mum’s old things the other day and guess what I found?”

Something in the tone of Bilbo’s voice made Gandalf look up from his scones. “What, pray, did you find?”

“A box labelled _blackmail material_ ,” Bilbo said with what could only be described as an evil grin. “A whole bunch of old cassette tapes from a little-known studio called Maiar Inc.--”

“What?” Gandalf stood up immediately and started looking around. “Bilbo Baggins! Where did you--”

“Here--and don’t bother burning them, I had them re-mastered in DVD format yesterday. Made several copies too,” Bilbo said, hauling out a cardboard box with the old tapes. “Including classics like _Istari I: Magic Mushrooms_ , _Istari II: Whiz-poppers_ and _Istari III: The Tower of Orthanc_ \--”

Gandalf harrumphed into his beard. “We all have our indiscreet phases--”

“ _Indiscreet_? You and Saruman made pornos together! Probably while high on something illegal! And he seems to think you owe him because of it! I might make pornos with Thrandy, but you don’t see me inviting myself over to his place and drinking his ale--I mean wine!” Bilbo looked up at Gandalf suspiciously. “Saruman’s not _blackmailing_ you, is he?”

“Oh no, we’re having a bit of a stalemate there,” Gandalf reassured him. “He can’t tell on me because it would mean that everyone would know--”

“That you used to bang uglies while stoned?” Bilbo made a face.

“You actually _watched_ them?” Gandalf asked incredulously.

“For all of five minutes! Then I reached for the brain bleach!” Bilbo exclaimed. “The wrinkles will haunt me forever! What would your students think?”

Gandalf was also a literature professor in the same institution that Saruman was teaching astrophysics in, to Bilbo’s absolute shock and bemusement. His mind, it boggled at how these respectable-looking academics--except for their hippy hair--were in fact former porn actors who ran porn studios and agencies for porn actors.

“That’s precisely why we don’t let them know,” Gandalf stated drily. “I don’t know whether to curse or thank your mother’s foresight.”

Belladonna Baggins used to be Belladonna Took--also known as Deadly Nightshade of the _Adventuress_ series. Before she retired from the business and married respectable old Bungo Baggins, she used to star in a series of popular soft-porn movies where she would seduce her mark as the titular Adventuress before making off with the family jewels. Bilbo knew that he probably got his wild side from her and his slightly more perverse side from Bungo, a hobbit from a respectable family who had just _happened_ to marry the most disreputable person imaginable. And both his parents knew Gandalf from way back when and just what he had been up to. Which explained the box of blackmail material. It might come in handy if he ever needed to get Saruman to back off.

“Good old Mum. I think I’ll put these in the massive porno collection in my living room to continuously shock the pantaloons off the Sackville-Bagginses.” Bilbo’s extensive collection was mostly for show--and shock value--but he had the entire MirkWOOD Studios oeuvre and a nice selection of vintage porn as well. “Maiar Inc., eh? The logo even looks like White Tower Productions’--wait, that’s _not_ a White Tower--”

Gandalf coughed again. “We had _different_ aesthetics back in the day . . .”

“You mean you had no taste and were too high to say no to crap like that,” Bilbo said pointedly as he held up the tapes with the unsubtle logo.

“. . . Well, that too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The Creative Process_

“And then there is a massive battle, or a massive orgy. An orgy--make peace, not war,” Thranduil said as he paced across the grass. "What do you think, Ediathanoruthial?"

Ediathanoruthial made no comment. He seldom had very strong opinions.

"Of course, that requires a lot of extras," the elf muttered. "Elrond will have to come up with something. And a beautiful set, on which to showcase all the sex scenes on."

Ediathanoruthial, or Eddie the Elk as he was commonly known, continued to chew on the grass placidly. His place as Thranduil's sounding board was secure and it was not a particularly taxing job. Fortunately, he had a way of twitching his ears to show that he was listening as he lipped at some tree bark. It was a fine day out and there were worse ways to spend his time.

Other eyes watched this display from the semi-castle, semi-bunker of Thranduil's home. Built in a different time, it gave the impression of paranoia coupled with the tree-loving sensibilities of the Silvan elves and the beauty-loving aesthetics of the Sindar. Or architectural schizophrenia by anyone with taste. 

“Is he still talking to Eddie?” Legolas asked his cousin once removed as he fixed another drink.

“Uh-huh, he’s still at it,” Tauriel reported from where she was looking out at the extensive woodlands of the Greenwood estate. “Oh, he’s moved onto talking to the tree.”

“And people ask me why I don’t have my friends over,” Legolas muttered into his lime margarita. He was not going to look at a performance he had seen many times before. Looking on the bright side of things, he _ought_ to count his blessings that Eddie the Elk was the sounding board for his father’s ideas.

“It’s just his creative process, Legs,” Tauriel said as she sipped a strawberry daiquiri. “You have to admit, he comes up with some really crazy shit out there. And there are worse ways to get inspiration. Like those weird mushrooms and several types of hallucinogenic spider venom.”

Legolas sighed. "I just wish his creative process didn't look like the ravings of a loon."

Back outside, the creative process was going in another direction all together.

"Just imagine! We could film _actual_ Ent-sex for _Forests of Fangorn_ ," Thranduil said to the trunk of the great tree. "Am I going too fast for you? I did tell you about how I got the idea, right?"

The tree was silent.

"There was that bit in _Defiler I_ when Azog says that he'll rip the tree branch off--I'm so sorry, that's distressing, isn't it? But it wasn't real. Anyway, Azog says he'll rip the branch off and put it up with the sun doesn't shine--that's when we thought, hang on, he should do that later. So we had props do up a fake tree branch for that impaling scene that the viewers really liked."

Thranduil took a deep breath. "So wouldn't it be even better if you could grow a branch or a root that was just the right shape and size? It would be brilliant!"

The tree remained silent. Being the object of Thranduil's musings was not difficult, seeing as the tree only caught one word out of twenty every thirty minutes or so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The MirkWOOD Studios Oeuvre_

_Horny Hobbits of the Shire I: Hobbit Hole Orgy_

_Horny Hobbits of the Shire II: Last Party Before the Grey Havens_

_Horny Hobbits of the Shire III: Ranger Danger_

_Horny Hobbits of the Shire IV: A Banging in the Smithy_

_Horny Hobbits of the Shire V: Shire Raid_

_Defiler I: The Sack of the Greenwood_

_Defiler II: The Mines of Moria_

_Defiler III: The Ravaging of the Shire_

_Bitter Smithing I: Cast-Iron Nights_

_Bitter Smithing II: Gundabad Days and Nights_

_*Tree-shaggers of Rivendell_

_**Miner's Daughter_

_* The elf-on-elf porn genre is small mainly because it would take a whole year to film two elves getting it on. And then they would have tantric elf sex for a month while everyone watching would be done within ten minutes._

_** The lesbian dwarf genre is also small--but not because there's a lack of an audience for dwarven lesbian porn. There was just a dearth of dwarven lesbian porn actors._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits:
> 
> Maiar Inc. titles are from this lovely anon, as are the _Forests of Fangorn series_ : http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=11375586#t11375586


	4. Outtakes: Redux

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dís’ First Day Or How Thorin Almost Brained Himself with a Prop Hammer_

“What’s going on?” Dori asked, following his instinct for a little gossip in the morning and finding it almost immediately. His brother Nori and Bofur from props were clustered around the washroom door.

“He’s locked himself in,” Bofur said.

“Came in to the studio and then locked himself in right away,” Nori added.

“But _who’s_ in there?” Dori asked.

“ _Thorin_ ,” the other two chorused. “Which is inconvenient because we’ve got to check if the prop hammer we knocked up for him looks right today.”

The reason for this was currently in Thranduil’s office, looking over the contract set out before her on Thranduil’s desk.

“I believe that’s all of it,” Balin said as he set out the last indemnity form.

“I hope you have a clear idea of what your work entails? We don’t want any . . . unnecessary drama,” Thranduil added. The previous webpage designer had quit because he had seen “more than enough hobbit penis to last a lifetime, thank you”.

“My work involves updating your company’s webpage, designing the DVD menus and pixelating my brother’s cock on DVD cover pictures,” Dís said with a straight face. “I talked to Thorin about it. He’s probably locked himself into the toilet by now. Give him a while.”

“You have an excellent grasp of your job scope,” Thranduil said. The look in her eyes discouraged any additional levity and Thranduil immediately discarded any notion of asking her if she would ever consider a career in the dwarrow lesbian porn genre. He liked his testicles where they usually resided and his testicles felt the same way.

“One condition though,” Dís said. “My brother said that he can’t work with us both here under the same roof. So I’ll be doing work at home while my brother is buggering hobbits or whatever else, _if_ you don’t mind.”

It was not a request and Thranduil found himself nodding and getting Balin to add in the necessary paperwork.

Dís Durin was _a lot_ more threatening than her brother. “I’m watching you, elf,” she muttered darkly when the paperwork was done. “And my brother’s not to do anything he doesn’t like.”

Thranduil let out the breath he had not known he had been holding when she left his office.

Outside the office, the denizens of MirkWOOD Studios clapped as Dís came out. They had been drawn by the prospect of entertainment and even Thorin had been lured out of the toilet eventually when he had heard that everyone was listening at Thrandy’s door.

“Oh that was beautiful!” Rori exclaimed as everyone hooted and guffawed. “Thorin’s younger sister just warned Thrandy off!”

Thorin looked like he would like to use his prop hammer on his own head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A Night At The Theatre_

“Go easy on the canapés, Rori,” Will Whitfoot whispered to his co-star. The Adult Video Awards were about to commence, but plenty of people were still milling around. The industry bigwigs were rubbing shoulders with actors, producers and directors. Somehow rubbing kneecaps was not working out for the hobbits. They had to practically trip the waiters if they wanted a drink.

“But the awards might take a while,” Rori complained. “An’ if we don’t fill up now, we’ll be drunk after just one bottle of wine!”

“Point,” Will conceded and waylaid another waiter. “Hey, down here!”

The ushers finally got people to move to their seats. Thranduil could be heard asking them for phonebooks to put on the hobbits’ chairs so that they could actually see the stage, much to Bilbo’s annoyance.

“Of all the patronising things!” Bilbo fumed. Perfectly dapper in his suit with every hair on his feet combed, he managed to look slightly taller than his four foot nine as he bristled at the producer.

“Shush, Baggins, and smile for the cameras,” Thranduil said breezily. He might pay for that later, but the look on the hobbit’s face was worth it. “Tauriel, be a dear and get a cute waiter to bring some drinks.”

Resplendent in a gown of gossamer and seed pearls, Tauriel refrained from rolling her eyes as her boss and his talent joined Elrond at their seats. She was also the designated driver and drunk-actor wrangler. Elves being elves, she could drink three times her own body weight in champagne before she started to wobble. But it was not the awards ceremony she was worried about. Thranduil was hosting an after-party in the hotel penthouse suite.

Tauriel often felt that she was not being paid enough for this, even if her distant uncle did come up with some smashing frocks for her to wear. She dialled her emergency backup driver as she went to find a waiter.

“Legs, are you there?” Tauriel said into her mobile.

“Yeah,” her cousin replied after a pause, “I’m here.”

“Are you trying to pick up a parking valet?” she asked suspiciously. Passing by the service entrance, she saw Gandalf sneaking in at the same time as Saruman. Watching the old geezers trying to go incognito and live it up at the same time was occasionally hilarious.

“No. Not really.”

“Are you getting blown by a waiter?” she asked as she observed Gandalf and Saruman bitching at each other like the pair of vicious old queens they were.

“What? No! I’ll send you a picture.”

Her mobile pinged as she received a message. Gandalf and Saruman had finally reached a stalemate and they stormed off to find their seats.

“Nice,” she agreed as the image loaded. “You always did like the slightly scruffy sort. Are you trying to hit on him?”

“Possibly.”

“Get his number. You’re my backup tonight, remember?” Legolas would have to handle his dad. Thranduil had to consume five times his body weight in wine before he would attempt to ride down the street on Eddie the Elk and hold up traffic, but he had been known to do it before.

“On it.” Legolas got off the line and Tauriel squared her shoulders. It was going to be a long night.

Her concern was justified as MirkWOOD Studios managed to pick up half a dozen awards, including Best Newcomer for Azog. _Horny Hobbits of the Shire_ won an award for Most Niche Series, beating out the orc-centric _White Hand_ series and the popular dwarf-mining-porn _Shaft_ series by Goldmine Productions.

Gandalf chortled into his beard as Saruman glared frostily at the stage where the hobbits were accepting the award on behalf of the studio.

There was a brief scuffle as they jockeyed for position on the box. Bilbo managed to get hold of the golden dildo and the centre spot, leaving Will and Rori hanging on precariously onto the podium as they elbowed him for control of the microphone.

“We had a list, but we lost it,” Will said after he had asserted control, “So here’ hoping we didn’t miss anyone. Deep breath now--”

“Props department, wardrobe department, we all love you, especially for supplying all the cups of tea!”

“Other co-stars--most of them couldn’t make it due to family commitments. But without them, we would only have each other to bang and that would be really boring.”

“Very boring,” Rori agreed.

“We would like to thank our director--”

“You might know him from snooze-fests like _Dances with Wargs_ and _The Journey to the Grey Havens_ , but he’s moved onto better things now,” Bilbo injected, “Our director Elrond, long may his hairline not recede!”

“This bein’ an elf who used to make award-winning documentaries, set up his own hippy commune, started up drag debut nights at Rivendell an’ had three kids before decidin’ ta slow down,” Rori said. “Good on yer, Elrond!”

“We would like to thank our producer--”

“Thrandy the moose-shagger--”

“Here’s to you, Thrandy! You’re still a tosser!”

“That person saying it’s an elk? That’s ‘im.”

“I’m only joking. He hasn’t shagged anyone since that time his kid was conceived,” Bilbo said, allowing a moment of silence for that thought to sink in.

“That’s a damn long time ago, innit?” Rori said in a hushed tone.

“So thank you, Thrandy’s sexual frustration! Without you, the _Horny Hobbits_ series would never have been made!”

There was applause, accompanied by a genial “Piss off, Baggins!” from Thranduil, who was feeling generous that night.

When the clapping finally died down, Bilbo looked at the award again thoughtfully. “Now this had better be real twenty-four karat gold plate, or I am going to have such an allergic reaction later on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Azog’s Night In_

Azog kept himself busy when not filming hardcore pornography with the incredibly over-the-top crew of MirkWOOD Studios. He was already rather busy with his field reports and his final year thesis. On top of academic work, he had to exercise his warg Winifred, do the laundry and call his mother. It was supposed to be a quiet night in.

_Bzzzt!_

Winifred’s ears twitched and she looked up as his mobile phone buzzed in the quiet flat that they shared. The rented studio apartment was cramp, but at least the location allowed Azog to exercise Winifred regularly.

_From: Will Whitfoot_   
_To: Azog_

_Azza! Congrats! You won!_

Oh, right, it was the presentation ceremony for the Adult Video Awards. Azog knew he was not the only actor who had given it a miss. Quite a few of the others had family commitments. Thorin Oakenshield was watching a football match and had tried to rope in several other colleagues to help cheer his nephew on. 

_Bzzzt!_ _Bzzzt!_ Another two texts came in as he read the first one. 

_From: Rori Brandybuck_   
_To: Azog_

_Best Newcomer! Or should I say Newcummer?_

_From: Thranduil_   
_To: Azog_

_We’ve received the award on your behalf. You should really join us at the after-party._

They were generally a nice bunch, but they did get carried away with the drunk-texting. _Bzzzt!_

_From: Nori Nolastnameshere_   
_To: Azog_

_Party in Thrandy’s suite!_

The crew and the actors had all been invited to the after-party hosted by Thranduil. Azog remember the last party he had been to. Mainly because he had been one of the few people sober enough to pull Rori and Will out of the kegs when they fell in. Then there had been the corralling of Eddie the Elk as Thranduil had threatened to ride out to the nearest karaoke bar to nick a karaoke machine so that he and Elrond could have a drag-queen showdown.

There were _reasons_ why Azog chose to sit out some of those parties. _Bzzzt!_

_From: Bofur_   
_To: Azog_

_We’ve filled the Jacuzzi with beer!_

When all was said and done, Thranduil did know how to throw a party. _Bzzzt!_

_From: Rori Brandybuck_   
_To: Azog_

_Oh lordy! Azza, you’ll never guess what Bilbo’s doing now!_

Azog decided that he did not need to know.

 _Bzzzt!_ The next text contained a picture attachment.

He turned pink as the picture loaded. Winifred sighed and took his mobile phone away to hide under the bathroom mat where it merrily continued to buzz away. 

_Bzzzt!_

Azog stopped checking his text messages that night and called his mother from a payphone while getting a Chinese takeaway for supper. He watched a few reruns of _Doctor Who_ with Winifred before going to bed and tried not to think about golden dildos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_After the After-Party_

A small, mostly naked figure dressed in silly string and glitter confetti burst out of concealment and streaked across the parking lot in the wee hours of the morning.

“You’ll never take me aliiiiive!” it shrieked even as a much taller figure bounded over the hoods of several vehicles to apprehend it.

“Gotcha,” Tauriel said, grabbing Rori Brandybuck under the armpits because she was definitely not touching the rest of him.

Tauriel opened the door of the Eco Party Wagon and slung Rori into the backseat.

“That’s the last of them?” Legolas asked as he checked the rear-view mirror of the electric Eco Party Wagon. They would have had an eco-car that ran on ethanol except for insert some joke about elves and alcohol here.

“Yup,” Tauriel said as she got in beside him. “All present, completely ratted and accounted for. Your dad?”

“I found him--six sheets to the wind and singing _I Will Survive_ to Eddie the Elk. Got him before he made it out of the lobby. They should be on their way home now.”

In the backseat, Rori had roused a few of the others so that they could start singing again about some elf from Lórien who liked to do it at eight in the mornin’.

“I need a raise,” Tauriel muttered as Legolas drove off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_It’s All Relative Or That One Time Lobelia Managed to Shock Bilbo_

Bilbo Baggins was rudely awakened by what sounded like an insistent woodpecker on his headboard. But it was not a woodpecker--it was the door.

“What time d’you call this then?” he grumbled as he clambered out of bed and shuffled to the mirror. A terrible sight greeted him. Unfortunately, it was his face. Thrandy was a tosser, but he knew how to throw a party. Bilbo vaguely remembered that he had dog-paddled his way across the beer-filled Jacuzzi the previous night. He might have done ten laps. And drank around four bottles of champagne. Plus roughly his own body weight in red wine.

No wonder he felt rough.

Bilbo slipped a pair of sunglasses over his bloodshot eyes and stomped his way to the door. He paused in the hallway, which had a hobbit-length mirror mounted on the wall for pre-outing adjustments. “Oh confound it,” he muttered, returning to his bedroom to fetch his dressing gown.

The knocking was growing more persistent.

“Lobelia,” Bilbo said through gritted teeth when he opened his front door. His head was _this_ close to splitting open and he had not had his morning cup of tea yet. “What can I do you for? I mean what can I do for you this lovely . . . morning?”

“Why are you wearing sunglasses at ten o’clock?” his cousin by marriage demanded as she pushed her way in. Lobelia was a pretty girl, but her voice was more akin to a banshee than an angel.

He really should have answered the door stark naked, Bilbo thought as Lobelia made herself at home in his sitting room.

“I was blinded by your dress,” Bilbo said. It was close enough to the truth. Lobelia looked like an explosion in a hat shop topped off with a parasol that had lost a fight in a lace-maker’s stall. The garish colour of her frock was threatening to give him an extra migraine.

But he was a hobbit and hospitality was given even if it was given grudgingly to unexpected visitors who barged in at ten in the morning. Bilbo was dying for a cup of tea anyhow. It forced Lobelia to decamp to the kitchen when it was obvious that he was not getting out the tea trolley, so that was a plus.

“Where’s Otho?” he asked after ungraciously pouring the tea. “Did you leave him locked up in the gimp cupboard again? That’s hardly safe.”

While he was happily ignorant of the bedroom arrangements of his cousin and his lovely bride, Bilbo was certain that Lobelia owned a strap-on. And used it on Otho. Oh dear, he really needed that brain bleach now . . .

“Really now,” Lobelia said archly. “Is that the best you can come up with? You must be hung-over.”

Dammit--point to Lobelia.

“I am, so you should get to the point,” Bilbo grumbled. His backside was still a little sore after that little workout yesterday night. But what a night it had been!

“You’re the only sexual deviant I know of, so I need your opinion on a possible venture.”

“I still think you use a strap-on with Otho,” Bilbo muttered. “What sort of venture is this? Not some dodgy pyramid scheme, I hope?”

“As I was saying, I’m looking for an opinion and you’re the most opinionated hobbit I know,” Lobelia continued as she produced a folder from her handbag.

“I was waiting for the bit where you go _except for myself_. What’s all this then?” Bilbo asked, trying to focus his blurry vision.

“Expanding the family’s corsetry line and going into more commercial things like this.” Lobelia pushed the folder over the table towards him.

Bilbo almost choked on his tea when he saw the pictures. “I knew it! You’re a closet fetishist!”

Lobelia’s family, the Bracegirdles, had been in the corset manufacturing business since the time immemorial. It was logical that she would want to update it. But Bilbo had not expected her to take it in this direction.

“I was hoping to attract corset fetishists,” Lobelia said coyly.

Bilbo pushed his sunglasses up and rubbed his eyes. He needed another cup of tea before he could deal with this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Casting Call_

_Horny Hobbits of the Shire IV_ was a hit across all demographics--on both DVD and web downloads as well. In fact, the comments on their website seemed to indicate that the viewers would not mind watching the blacksmith at his anvil all day long.

So Thranduil signed Thorin on for _Bitter Smithing: Cast-Iron Nights_. It was about a wandering blacksmith who was all grim and smoulder-y while he worked in a smithy by day and ravished a lot of people at night because his repressed angst gave him super-mojo. Or something.

Thrandy must have been experiencing some epiphany in the forest with his elk when he came up with that. Or his hormones were making him weird again. But no-one was really surprised. Elves--you never knew when their under-stimulated sex drives would spark up and come up with the filthiest porn in Middle Earth.

Gandalf got Bilbo a part in _Defiler IV: The Battle of the Five Armies_ and of course, _Horny Hobbits of the Shire V_ \--plot yet to be determined. Or until Thranduil had another brainwave.

As it turned out, both Azog and Thorin were cast in _Defiler IV_ as the titular Defiler and the leader of the dwarven army respectively. They had been called in to see the script. Thrandy must have put the screws to the writers chained up in the basement.

“Hey Azza, aren’t you supposed to be graduating?” Bilbo asked, a chai _latte_ in hand as he walked into the small meeting room where Elrond and his assistant Lindir were also waiting to look through the script. 

“Doing my post-graduate degree,” Azog said shyly. “There might be a fee hike next year, so I thought it might be better to do it earlier.”

“That’s smart. I almost forgot about the fee hikes,” Lindir said ruefully.

Lindir was putting himself through film school and while pornos were not exactly high art, he was getting all the experience he needed in the technical areas and dealing with actors. And he was a massive fan of Elrond’s work. Before taking a hiatus and going into the new world of pornography, Elrond had been a respected director of documentaries. As to _why_ he had switched genres, the answer could have been _Elves get bored after a few centuries of doing the same thing_.

Thorin was being more taciturn than usual in addition to pointedly not looking at Bilbo. Azog thought that anyone would find it difficult after getting sent those videos from the night of the party and Thorin was also related to their graphics and web designer. Dís actually had to _edit_ the photos from that night for the website.

Thranduil and Tauriel came in at last. Thrandy in a gold tunic that could be seen from any planet of your choice and Tauriel carrying piles of scripts that they had just ran through the photo-copier.

“First drafts, of course,” Thranduil said. “This is going to be the biggest production yet!”

“You mean you’ve been dancing with your elk under the moonlight to retro music and got inspired,” Bilbo translated as he flipped through the surprisingly thick draft.

It was . . . ambitious. There was also going to be a lot more action than previous _Defiler_ episodes. And there was a complicated quasi-historical, completely non-factual plot involved. Thorin was going to be one of the main characters who had run afoul of Azog when he was younger, then they would face off in battle when Thorin was older. Bilbo was the plucky sidekick with the dark past from _Defiler III_ who would galvanise Thorin into fighting Azog. Thorin had to play his younger self and older self while Azog ravished everyone across multiple time periods.

“So this is basically an epic revenge porno?” Bilbo asked after some twenty pages. “Azog defiles people, they get together and a big battle ensues?”

“Something like that,” Thranduil said. He looked at his director, who appeared to be suffering from a toothache as he paged through the script. “It’s not half as ambitious as _Dances With Wargs_ , you know?”

“I got into this industry for _less_ stressful shoots,” Elrond said through his teeth. “You would know what I mean if you spent _months_ spent trekking through the Gundabad Mountains--”

“I’ll hire another AD! No offense, Lindir, but this is going to be a tricky one to handle.”

“Not a problem,” Lindir squeaked as he imagined all his weekends vanishing right before his very eyes. And most nights too. It had been a very _detailed_ script.

Elrond was interrupted in the middle of a potential meltdown by Tauriel coming in through the door with someone. A tall, dark and slightly scruffy-looking-around-the edges someone.

“Oh meet Bard--I got his number off my son’s phone,” Thranduil said, waving the newcomer in. “He’s not quite a newbie, but would like the experience that our studio can afford him.”

“You mean all the convoluted plotlines spliced with porn,” Bilbo said. He had not complained about being the plucky sidekick because it was a rather large role and if Bard wanted porn with some meat to it, he had probably wound up in the right place.

The hobbit spent some time texting under the table as Thrandy tried to get Elrond to calm down while Azog and Thorin pretend not to notice the drama as they made small talk with Bard.

_From: Bilbo Baggins_   
_To: Legolas Greenleaf_

_Did you go out with Bard or did Daddy Dearest snap him up for his latest feature first?_

_From: Legolas Greenleaf_   
_To: Bilbo Baggins_

_It looks like we’re just going to be archery buddies, Uncle Bilbo. And Bard was the one to bring my Dad up first. Is he in the meeting with you?_

_From: Bilbo Baggins_   
_To: Legolas Greenleaf_

_Oh yes. Good-looking fellow. But I think Thorin is more your Dad’s type._

_From: Legolas Greenleaf_   
_To: Bilbo Baggins_

_TMI_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Open House Day_

The sign on the door said _Out in the field. Be back by tea-time. - R._

Azog and Rikki looked at the sign and then at each other. They knew that the note might have been posted that morning or _days_ old. For Radagast, dates and times were things that happened to other people.

“We need to tell George about this,” Rikki the dwarf said. “He’ll do something about it.”

The job of passing the message onto their most senior post-grad was easy. Getting out of there before he started thinking about which of the post-grads were going to take their field studies supervisor’s place at the student talk that afternoon was not so simple. Gondor University’s annual Open House Day usually drew a crowd and even the smallest departments gave talks.

“All right, I’ll do it!” George said in exasperation after everyone side-eyed each other and muttered their excuses. Azog had a real excuse though--he was due to represent the Warg Riders Association at their talk. “But someone had better take my shift at the booth.”

Bronwyn volunteered so long as it did not interfere with the Archery Club’s demonstration. The t-shirts were given out with many a heartfelt groan and scathing comments.

Azog went to do his own shift at the booth after donning the departmental t-shirt (with _Geologists make the bedrock_ on the back), passing by the science faculty’s booths on the way. Fíli Durin was giving out pamphlets and guiding his younger, easily excitable brother around at the same time.

“Oh, I get it now,” Kíli chortled as he read off the back of Azog’s t-shirt. “Geologists make the _bed rock_!”

“Yeah, it’s a thing here,” Fíli said. He was wearing his departmental tee and while _Chemists do it periodically on a table_ was not original, it looked good on a t-shirt. “The departmental t-shirts, I mean. Now do you want to go see the language departments or not?”

Azog sighed. It had been between the bedrock joke and _Geologists: Masters of Subduction_ at the end of the t-shirt design competition. But it was better than the Molecular Biology department’s tee ( _Molecular biologists do it with hot probes_ ).

He narrowly avoided the Clean College For All booth where student volunteers were trying to paste _Just Say No to Drugs_ stickers onto passers-by. Their advisor Saruman had frostily turned down his departmental t-shirt ( _Astrophysicists do it with heavenly bodies_ ) and had acceded to one small sticker as he stalked about glaring at students and potential students alike.

At the Geology department’s booth, a number of dwarves and humans were clustered around the harried volunteers who were trying to tell them that “It’s not all about gold!” Azog’s presence made half of them melt away and the other half shut up.

“You just look very intimidating, that’s all,” Rikki said as the crowd thinned out and only the most serious potential students stuck around.

“Yeah, but it makes people _listen_. Aren’t you speaking for the W.R.A. today too?”

“I’ve got a speech done,” Azog said, showing them his cue cards.

“ _The bond between warg and rider is a beautiful thing_ ,” Rikki read out. “ _The Association stresses responsible warg-ridership and please follow all the rules about cleaning up after your warg on university grounds._ ”

“It’s nice . . . Might want to put that bit about cleaning up after your warg at the end though.”

“You think so?” Azog asked. “Only you know how shirty the management gets about people not--”

A grey shape suddenly ducked behind Azog’s bulk, startling them all out of the conversation. The Geology post-grads turned to see what was going on behind him.

Gandalf, in the literature department’s _Writers do it ‘til their hands cramp_ tee that he had managed to pull over his academic robes, was busy defacing the antidrug posters with drawings of bongs. He placed his fingers conspiratorially on his lips when he saw them looking and skipped off to do the same at the next wall.

“At least he’s a lot more fun than Saruman,” Rikki said with a shrug. “And less likely to complain about warg poop.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Legolas finally get laid? Will Tauriel ever get a raise?
> 
> Will Thrandy try to make a move on Thorin?
> 
> Will _Forest of Fangorn_ ever be made?


	5. Outtakes: (Almost) Everything That Led To The Making of Defiler IV: The Battle of the Five Armies

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Original Choice Not Available_

“I don’t believe this,” Elrond said flatly when Thranduil gave him the news in his office.

“It’s not the end of the world,” the producer said with a wave of his hand. His desk was strewn with paperwork and the accounts department--namely Balin and Oin--were colonising the coffee table with ledgers, a laptop and calculators. The usually sparsely-furnished and pretentiously Zen-like office was a little more crowded that day. That entire month actually, as Thranduil and company battled with paperwork to get the funding, casting and everything else done in preparation for the filming of _Defiler IV: The Battle of the Five Armies_.

Thing was, they had hit a few road-bumps along the way.

“I wanted Glorfindel.”

“I wanted Glorfindel too, but you know where he is. Or you don’t know where he is at the moment because he’s off filming some doco about Balrogs.”

Elrond sighed. Glorfindel did like wander off on his own when Balrogs were involved. “But--”

“He’s not Glorfindel the bloody elusive for nothing.”

“And the one you did get--”

Thranduil waved both his hands. “He’s a hard worker.”

“I know you take in charity cases, but this might be going a little too far,” Elrond pointed out.

“He was willing to work for peanuts,” Balin injected from where he was trying to make a few decimal points shuffle a little more to the right.

“That too, but everyone deserves a chance,” Thranduil said with an irritated hair-flip.

“You’re not making a very convincing case for him,” Elrond said dryly. “And you don’t need to flip your hair in front of me. It’s not like I don’t know you’re a wanker pretending to be a bleached-blond airhead.”

“Only _just_ a wanker then?” Oin said _sotto voce_ from the coffee table.

“I heard that,” Thranduil snapped. “You don’t need to pretend you don’t know I can hear everything you say.”

“Eh? What?” Oin bellowed over his legers, directing his ear trumpet in Thranduil’s general direction.

“Or that you’re selectively deaf.”

“Eh? What--”

“ _Back_ to the topic at hand,” Elrond snapped, almost at the end of his rope. “You can’t guarantee that I can work with him. You can’t even guarantee that the _actors_ will want to work with him.”

“I’ll handle the actors. You just need to work with him.” Thranduil smiled a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It had been _that_ sort of month. “I’m sure you can do it.”

Elrond sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to. Just tell me that there’s vacation time after that.”

“Vacations for everyone. Possibly because we’ll be bankrupt afterwards,” Thranduil agreed dourly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_The AD This Studio Deserves_

Back for costume fittings and script revisions, Bilbo Baggins was often at loose ends in between bouts of frequent activity. Even Thranduil’s summons to meet in the studio was a welcome respite from Dori’s hemming and read-throughs.

Of course, it was not always good news with Thrandy . . .

Billbo did not quite jump out of his skin when the spindly figure popped out of the background of artistically rendered boulders. But he did jump and squeak a bit. Fortunately or not, Thranduil was on hand to diffuse the situation.

“Bilbo, you’ve met Gollum before, haven’t you?”

“Oh. Yes. That was a while back . . . Erm, how are you doing?”

“You mean if I’m still on medication and out of control? Well, I’m still on medication, but after careful adjustment and tweaking of my regime, I am ninety-nine per cent in control of my . . . episodes.” Gollum was actually able to have a conversation with sustained eye-contact now.

“He was improperly diagnosed before he came to Mirkwood, if you remember.” Thranduil remembered everything despite being older than dirt, including the bits where the Mirkwood estate used to be a retreat and rest-cure home for certain people that needed a quiet corner of the world to huddle in, far from the maddening crowd. 

“Yes--he was undergoing some sort of nature-based psychotherapy then. Lots of tree-climbing involved.” Bilbo had not thought that allowing a manic-depressive with dissociative personality disorder free reign to climb trees during his episodes was the safest sort of therapy, but he was not a therapist and had been just a temporary guest at that time.

“I think I frightened you quite a bit back then. Sorry about that,” Gollum said sheepishly.

“Oh I always scream fit to shatter glass when someone jumps out of a tree at me,” Bilbo said reassuringly. Gollum himself was not a reassuring sight. He was still stick-skinny and appeared to have the metabolism of a hummingbird. Unlike elves, he was not tall and his eyes had the look of overcooked gooseberries.

“It’s so good to see you both getting along,” Thranduil said with the maternal air of a chaperone overseeing a play-date. “I’m sure you’ll be able to work together just swimmingly--”

“Work. Together. _Thranduil_?” Bilbo raised his eyebrows and spread his hands slowly because he knew better than to make sudden moves around Gollum.

“Ah, yes, well, Gollum is our new AD. You know how stressed Elrond gets when--”

“ _Thrandy_ , a word, if you please.”

“Yes, yes--excuse us, I need to show Bilbo his new dressing room.” 

Gollum waved cheerfully. Thranduil and Bilbo did so too--albeit rather less cheerfully as they walked off the soundstage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Your Issues Are Cluttering My Dressing Room Closet_

“What were you thinking? If you were actually _thinking_ , I mean!” Whispering furiously once they were out of earshot of Gollum, Bilbo was keen to give the producer a piece of his mind.

“He was keen--”

“And a cheap hire? You know he used to work for White Tower!”

“And _look_ what they did to him.” Thranduil drew himself up to his not insignificant height. “I _know_ you’ve had your differences, but he deserves a chance. Especially after his breakdown during that entire fiasco at White Tower.”

That gave Bilbo pause. He was not an unkind hobbit, even though he might be a little prone to snark, a few untruths here and there and sometimes the occasional bout of blackmail.

“That was pretty bad,” he had to admit.

“It was. But he’s more stable when he’s working and not thinking about . . . other things,” Thranduil pointed out.

Bilbo gave the elf his best side-eye. “And that teeny, tiny problem of his kleptomania?”

Thranduil waved a finger knowingly. “I’ll have the props department leave prop rings all over the set for him to pick up.”

“Thought of everything, haven’t you?” Bilbo had to give it to the pointy-eared wanker--he did try to cover all bases. 

“Everything. Even your dressing room. Which Gandalf has managed to wrangle for you.”

“My dressing room?” The day was looking up after all. The hobbit followed the producer to the main backstage area and was introduced to a door with his name on it in gold glitter.

The elf made a grandiose gesture of welcome. “All yours.”

“Oi, Thrandy! This is the broom closet! You’ve gone and put my name on the door of a sodding broom closet!” Bilbo exclaimed as he popped his head back out.

“It’s not as though you require that much room,” Thranduil said snidely.

“Size-ism is still alive and well, I see,” Bilbo complained.

“Did you hear that violin? It’s the world’s smallest--oh was it yours?” 

“That was low.”

“Now you’re just walking right into the crummy short jokes, Baggins. We need to raise the bar.”

“Oh har har,” the hobbit said dryly. “You get a free pass because I’ve got a bit more on my plate this month.”

Thranduil cocked his head attentively. “Well you don’t look like you’re putting on weight--”

“Watch it, you’re pushing my boundaries,” Bilbo warned him. “My scheming cousin by marriage has got me to invest in her start-up and I’m actually _losing_ weight because I’m trying not to let my guard down around her.”

“Fucking hell, Baggins, the audience likes you comfortably soft around the middle,” Thranduil said, actually alarmed for once. “And I thought you thought your cousin by marriage was a shark in a dress.”

Bilbo cleared his throat nosily. “I still think she is a shark in a dress, but I sort of climbed into the shark tank with her. After all, she has an instinct for money.”

“You need a person to manage your finances and stop climbing into shark tanks.”

“Gandalf is my financial advisor. Sort of.”

The producer shook his head sadly. “You’re buggered now, Baggins.”

“He thought it was quite sound actually.”

“ _Did_ he now?” Thranduil’s expression said everything he thought about Gandalf’s financial acumen.

“Well, how did you feel when no-one wanted to back you when MirkWOOD Studios started out?” Bilbo demanded.

“Mostly betrayed,” the producer admitted after a pause. “All of my namby-pamby relations wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Yeah and only Elrond thought you had something going there under that weave of yours. I mean--look at where you are now!”

The producer’s perfectly smooth forehead crinkled slightly. “Reduced to making hobbit porn?”

“But you’re not in over your head in debt or floundering around making sleazy sex tapes.”

“Right--tell that to my son,” Thranduil sighed.

Oh. _Oh_ , that was what it was all about then. Thrandy got his thong in a twist every now and again because of family issues. Family issues that spanned _centuries_. “You know, if you actually sat down and _talked_ to Legolas for a bit instead of the elk--”

“The last time I did that, he got up and left when I was half-way through.”

Bilbo sighed. “You were trying to get him to be an accountant or lawyer again, weren’t you? He doesn’t want to go the conventional route. He’s told me so plenty of times.”

“It says a lot when my son gets along better with _you_ than with me!”

“That’s because I’m not you and he’s not my son.” Bilbo thanked the powers that be for that every day too. “So _of course_ he’s all right with whining at me via text messages and complaining about not getting a shag and having his double millennial crisis.”

“He’s not still into humans, is he?” Thranduil asked automatically before his shoulders slumped. “Oh shit--I’ve become my dad, haven’t I?”

“Seeing as I never met your dad for the obvious reasons, I wouldn’t know,” Bilbo said carefully. Family was a touchy subject--even for tossers like Thrandy. 

“Sometimes, I wish his mother was still around.” Thrandy looked despondent, but still regal. Bloody elves and their regal bearings and their inability to look anything less than perfect even when sulking or in the middle of a strop.

“Sometimes, I forget you’re not actually gayer than a bottle of Lisa Frank body bath shower gel,” Bilbo muttered and patted the producer’s hip awkwardly. “I didn’t know her either, but Legolas remembers her and he doesn’t blame you for any of that.”

“He’ll find something else to blame me for,” Thranduil said morosely, “Kids do that.”

“He’s a good lad though. I was surprised you were even related back then. Peroxide isn’t supposed to be genetic.”

“Thanks for nothing, Baggins.” Thranduil straightened up and looked more like his snotty old self again. “Unlike you, I actually have work to do now before you have a feature to get naked in.”

“Yeah, yeah . . . Go drink another magnum of champagne--it’ll make you feel better.” And hopefully they would not need to have another awkward moment inside his dressing room. Closet. Whatever.

“And do I call you in the morning?”

“You know I’d charge you double if I was your doctor or your psychiatrist,” Bilbo could not help adding.

“Up yours, Baggins.” Everything was back to normal then.

“Get out of my closet, tree-shagger. Your issues are getting into my space.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Folk Music Open Mike Night at Folly’s_

The MirkWOOD Studios staff frequented a pub that catered to multiple species with odd jobs. The elves liked it because they could get sloshed in peace. The dwarves like it because there was Open Mike Night every Friday and they could indulge in folk music. The orcs liked the Old Folly because they could get plastered and listen to dubious folk songs done in the deep-voiced harmonies that the dwarves favoured. And to observe or join in the ensuing bar brawl.

The Old Folly was the closest thing to a local boozer that Gandalf and Bilbo had. They tended to find themselves there on Friday nights for the weird camaraderie that the motley clientele generated.

“I do enjoy folk songs,” Gandalf said with a smile as he ordered a pint of brown ale.

“Folk songs, my great aunt’s fanny,” Bilbo retorted as he wiggled his way onto a barstool as tall as he was with his own pint. “Folks songs tend to be more subtle about going-ons.”

“But dwarven folk songs are just so . . . _risible_.”

“Sure, Gandalf. Cheers,” Bilbo said, raising his glass.

The dirty ditties continued to issue from the stage as they sampled their ale. Oin, Gloin and their back-up musicians were in fine fettle that night.

_Theeeerrre was a young elf from Lórien,_  
_Who liked it eight times in the mornin'!_  
_So fierce was his libido that he made it his credo_  
_To dally with every race on Arda's vast face!_

“Yeah, right,” Bilbo snorted. “Elves don’t get that much action.”

Gandalf chucked into his ale. “Speaking of which, what’s going on at Thranduil’s? New feature chugging along?”

Bilbo lowered his voice. “He’s gone and hired Gollum as the second AD.”

Gandal’s beard went still. “Oh. Well, that’s disturbing. Wasn’t he . . . _unwell_ after his stint at White Tower?”

_He met a fine lass from Rivendell whose limbs were straight and pale,  
And when she asked for a French letter she sure dint mean the mail!_

The din from the stage covered Bilbo’s response. “Thrandy found him again. Probably got him into more nature therapy or something. No disability pay-outs from White Tower, I’ll bet.”

His agent looked at Bilbo solemnly. “You have to feel sorry for the poor sod sometimes.”

“I’ll say one thing for Thrandy, he actually managed to get Gollum into a functional state. So long as he keeps it together, Gollum isn’t that bad as an AD.” Just a tad hyper. And prone to pop up without a sound.

_He got out of bed after seven rounds of head,  
And said, "Darlin' you've got a mouth like a Hoover!"_

Some--possibly female orcs or elves or dwarves--took offense to the lyrics and hurled a few pints of beer at the stage. The usual Friday night brawl was getting underway as usual.

“So long as we don’t have to have another . . . scene,” Gandalf said sternly. “I hope Thranduil has things in hand.”

“Mostly in hand. Just a bit slow because of some hiccup with finances. We’ve done costume fittings and script revisions, but not much else. In the meantime, I’ve got some writing done . . .” Bilbo lowered his voice as they took refuge under the bar to avoid the thrown beer and flying bodies. “You know that project I was talking about?”

Gandalf was still a lot less woolly than he let on. “Your memoirs?” he asked sharply.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few pages here. See what you make of them.”

Gandalf pulled out his pipe and smoked it slowly as he perused the first draft.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Excerpts from the Memoirs of Bilbo Baggins_

_The events herein document events occurring roughly a year after the passing of my dear parents. The Fell Winter had meant that we were snowed in and getting chilblains._

_The pater and mater contracted a nasty case of pneumonia and the doctor could not reach them in time. The snow and blocked paths had made it impossible for medical aid to come in time. A number of our community also perished of winter-related illnesses._

__[My therapist says I’m not quite over that episode and I might have to revisit this later. Then again, my therapist is an elf who is older than dirt and has son-issues.]_ _

_The arrival of spring was marred by the rash of spring funerals and it was fortunate that I was too wrapped up in my grief to pay attention to all the gloating when my parents’ will was read. I suppose I was the only one standing in the way of certain families inheriting the whole lot, but I did not quite have the grace to die the way my parents did._

_When I did notice, it took all my self-control not to go after them all with my mother’s gardening tools. It was probably an impulse decision that drove me to take a holiday before I could strangle all my relatives._

_I just left without warning. Or much thought as to where I was going to go because I had never expressed any form of teenage rebellion until then. I had this vague idea of going to Bree and seeing where I wanted to go from there._

_Bree was . . . dull. It was just a larger version of a hobbit village with humans thrown in. After the initial surprise, I realised that humans were just larger versions of hobbits with three times more vileness and avarice. They were also keen on things like gambling and other naughty vices._

_I soon found myself trying to outrun some of them after an ill-advised poker game. Humans really, _really_ did not like other people to point out that they had other cards up their sleeves. _

_Going back to Bree was not an option at that point in time, so I girded my loins metaphorically and soldiered on into the wilderness towards the east._

_The east, so exotic sounding and smacking of mysterious things hobbits have never seen before . . . It was mostly trees. And rocks. And hills. Full of rocks. That were murderous to sleep on._

_The scenery got boring after the first day and I had not had any tea for two days running. It was not my idea of a good time._

_But short of running back to Hobbiton, there was little else I could do. I wandered along, ill-prepared and growing even more ill-tempered as my walking holiday turned out to an all-out failure._

_On the evening of the third day, I was drawn by a strange neon orange and pink glow to a particular valley just across a river. Geography was not my strongest point when I was without my maps. I followed the lights and heard a sort of low, pulsing sound._

_The noise was . . . sort of a din, but at that time, I was too hungry and tired to care. There were lights and possibly civilisation down there and I was heading there, caution be damned._

_But it was not my night, for I ran into a number of trolls just outside._

_Trolls were . . . annoying to say the least. I was all prepared to ignore their harassment, but I soon realised that their offers to take me to dinner meant that they wanted me to_ be _dinner._

Double-entendres _and all variations of “You look good enough to eat” aside, I was petrified. My evasive manoeuvres were not quite up to evading the brutes and I was soon surrounded._

_I was all prepared to start making out my last will and testimony giving away all my worldly goods to the Bree Home for Orphan Children when the thudding of hooves cut through the din and the world went a little topsy-turvy after that._

_Unconsciousness came as a relief. I was no fainting maiden, but recent events and dehydration had ganged up on me._

_I came to some hours later under a blanket on a comfy surface and not in a stew pot, so things were probably looking up for me. Asides from the splitting headache and being sore everywhere._

_"Hullo, you're up then. Told you he'll be fine." The speaker was male and much too cheerful for my liking._

_“You’ve had a turn, haven’t you? But we chased those yobs off. Just another Friday night.” There were two of them. I looked up at my rescuers and was almost blinded by their cheerfulness._

_Oh._ Elves _. I was in Rivendell--a place I had always wanted to visit. My first glimpse of the Fair Folk told me exactly why they were called the_ Fair Folk _and why everyone tended to develop a raging inferiority complex after meeting them. In addition to being built like supermodels, they were also multi-talented and unflappable to boot._

_"Are you two rapscallions done with waking your guest up with your chatter?" a testy voice called from the doorway. Something was cooking in what was probably the kitchen of the generous suite of apartments._

_"That'll be Dad. Or Lord Elrond if you're feeling fancy." Elladan was Elrohir’s twin. Now twins were a thing in Elrond’s family tree--a thing of note because elves do not usually have many kids. I was to learn that Elrond had three children in total and was considered to be quite a stud by his peers._

_"Or Chantrelle if it's Saturday night."_

_"You're much too old for me to spank you," the voice chided them. Moving with the enviable grace that all elves seemed to possess, Lord Elrond glided out of the kitchen in a leaf-patterned dressing gown and nodded at me amicably. "Good morning, Master Hobbit. No worse for wear after your little adventure?"_

_My first impression of Lord Elrond was that of an elf who had lived a long time and had no time for anyone's bullshit, thank you very much. He shoved a mug of something dark and steaming under my nose and instructed me to drink it up._

_"What is it?" I asked, sniffing at the mug suspiciously. Rivendell had a_ reputation _for certain things and dodgy pharmaceuticals were one of them._

 _"Herbal tea. Not_ that _sort of herbal," Elrond added with a barely perceivable eye-roll. "It'll sooth your headache."_

_"Dad's a healer. Best one around." His sons’ endorsement no doubt meant something, but I was still not able to appreciate it in the state I was in._

_“Now shoo,” Lord Elrond said briskly as he came to my bedside--actually it was the sofa, but that was beside the point. “Master Hobbit, how did you come to be in such a state?”_

_And so began my time with the elves of Rivendell._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Post-Friday Night Bar Brawl at Folly’s_

"You need an editor," Gandalf said neutrally as the brawl reached its peak around them.

“I can get Elrond’s kids or Legolas to vet it. They won’t be the least bit averse to reading about their parents’ less salubrious moments.” Bilbo clutched at his pint glass worriedly. “It was that bad?”

“No . . . It was rather personal. Very raw, certainly.” Gandalf looked at him carefully. “Are you sure Elrond and Thranduil are fine with being mentioned in your book?”

"Yeah, well, he owes me. And Thrandy always said I should get my feelings out in the open."

“I bet he never thought it would be like this.”

“Well, he’ll have to live with it, won’t he?” Bilbo tucked away his papers into a leather folio. “Another pint if the bar’s still functional?”

A dwarf crash-landed in front of them, swearing sulphurously.

“Oh yes--let’s see if they have any more crisps as well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Glorfindel the Bloody Elusive_

Somewhere in the mines deep under Moria, out of range of any cell phone networks, Glorfindel the bloody elusive was living up to his name by being completely uncontactable. Which was too bad, really. He had the most terrific pitch about this documentary he was filming.

Taking out his recorder, he thumbed it on and cleared his throat.

" _Deep in the depths of Moria_ ," he began, “ _the hunt for the most elusive of Middle-Earth’s creatures has started_ . . . Begun? _Begun_ , dammit . . .”

He pressed the stop button and tried again, his voice echoing forlornly into the deep darkness of the abandoned dwarf halls.

“ _Deep in the depths of Moria, the hunt for the most elusive of Middle-Earth’s creatures has begun_ ,” he intoned--story-telling was one of the elven arts he excelled at after all. “ _Here, where the dwarf lords once ruled and practiced hard commerce, only the odd orc or goblin is still found, eking out a living in post-recession times. I, Glorfindel of Rivendell, formerly of Gondolin, am walking the paths less taken on my search for the Balrog._ ”

There, that did not sound so bad. Now all he had to do was get another hour of narrative plus footage before he could get a preview back up to the surface to show--

"I thought it needed a little work though." A passing goblin nodded at him. “We’re doing quite well down here, so it’s not quite _eking out a living_ now, is it?”

“I’ll have to redraft that speech,” Glorfindel said, slightly miffed at being interrupted in the middle of the creative process.

The goblin nodded thoughtfully. "Wait, I thought you said were from Gondolin?"

"Formerly of. Gondolin's not on the map anymore."

"So you'd be the elf formerly known as Glorfindel of Gondolin?" The goblin cocked his head attentively in the pose of someone who was going to give his opinion whether you liked it or not. "Glorfindel of Gondolin sounds better. Alliterative and all that. Or are you one of those elves who call themselves So-and-so-formerly-of-Someplace-Else because of some weird reincarnation thing?"

"Everyone's a critic these days," Glorfindel muttered.

“Well, all right, I know when my feedback isn’t wanted,” the goblin huffed and bustled on, leaving Glorfindel on his own again in the depths of Moria. Mostly alone. The tunnels started getting quite crowded when the goblins started their day.

Glorfindel managed to get out of the goblin market he stumbled into with most of his spare change intact and a bottle of dubious mushroom whiskey. No doubt he would have to arrange for accommodations down here while he continued making the preview for his doco. Who knew how long it would take . . . The process of film-making was arduous, but elves had a lot of time to make a vision come true.

 _Glorfindel: Balrog Hunter_ had such a nice ring to it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_What’s Worse Than Discovering Your Uncle Starring in Pornos?_

Thorin seldom had time at home on his own without his sister’s constant presence. When she went on a girls’ night out with her mates, he felt slightly better about getting home late after the Friday Night Open Mike and Bar Brawl at Folly’s.

He was humming the chorus of one of the folk songs as he came in--and promptly stumbled across his nephews clutching at each other on the sofa of their optimistically-named living room. They looked . . . distressed.

“Mam . . . She was watching . . . _that_.” Kíli’s lower lip trembled when they could finally articulate their angst. “We f-found it on her Mac . . .”

 _That_ was clearly Bilbo Baggin’s naked bottom, freeze-framed and displayed in all its glory on the computer screen. Dís had been editing videos on her Mac, but she had obviously forgotten to password-protect her Mac.

Thorin sincerely hoped that she had not been editing anything with _him_ in it.

Kíli whimpered and Fíli tried to sooth him. His older brother did not look very much better as he stared up at Thorin with the eyes of a dwarf at the end of his safety line and dangling over a dark mine shaft.

“Mum was watching . . . _porn_. Lots and lots of porn.”

It was on the tip of Thorin’s tongue to tell them that they got what they deserved for accessing their mum’s computer without her permission, but they looked so traumatised that the words never came out.

“Uncle, I think . . . I think our Mam’s a porn addict,” Fíli said worriedly. “There are . . . _support groups_ for this sort of thing, right?”

Thorin felt the beginnings of a massive stress headache coming on. Where was the potato-peeler when you needed it the most?

“Lads, I think there’s something you might need to know about your Mam’s new job . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many readers have requested for the lads finding out about their uncle’s new career in professional hobbit-buggering, but I thought _Why not make it even worse?_


	6. Actually (Really) the Making of Defiler IV: The Battle of the Five Armies (sort of)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re waitin’ in the studio,” Dwalin growled at Bilbo at the door. “Not enough space in the meetin’ room.”

“It’s about time,” Bilbo muttered as he shuffled into the studio on a Monday morning with an overpriced chai latte in hand. He preferred to make his own tea, but indulged himself whenever he anticipated a long day sitting around trying to make sense of a script that Thranduil had pulled out of Yavanna alone knew where.

At least Thranduil had finally got something out of his hypothetical dungeon of imprisoned writers. And cast the actors required. After a bunch of rescheduled shooting dates, Bilbo was glad to note that they were getting somewhere.

The main actors were assembled in the studio, Bard and Haldir included. Apparently Thranduil had expanded certain roles while trying to come up with the barest skeleton of a plot. Probably so that there would be an orgy at the end. Bilbo did not really like inter-species orgies--his stature invariably meant that he would disappear somewhere in middle of it all or get hidden by someone else doing something erotic or acrobatic to some other person.

Space-constraints meant that they did not have a conference room for a cast this size, just a clear area on the edge of the largest set in main studio that had been furnished with chairs and a makeshift table. The props and wardrobe department were already at work in their respective corners. Tauriel had a stack of print-outs, a slightly over-zealous expression of good cheer and a mission in mind--clearing this briefing without going spare at the actors and tearing her hair out.

“Roll-call,” she began, “Bilbo Baggins . . .”

“Present and accounted for.”

“Runty and spunky hobbit side-kick, check.”

“Hey--watch the sizeist language!”

Tauriel ignored him. “Thorin Oakenshield.”

The dwarf grunted and kept sipping his coffee. Open Mike Folk Songs Nights were taking their toll.

“Grumpy taciturn dwarf warrior, check.”

“Bard Girionsson.”

She got a small wave from the actor. “You’re the human archer lead.”

“Haldir, you’re Galris, Elven hunter lead.”

“Right. Elrond still owes me for this.”

Tauriel soldiered on. “Azza--titular Defiler.”

“Here.”

“Hobbit extras--”

“Oi! We’re spunky sidekicks with our own side quest!”

“Yeah, once Thranduil gets the writers to give you actual _names_ ,” Bilbo said snarkily, safe in his position as co-lead and spunky sidekick.

"You're a wanker, Baggins--" And Rori would have thought up some better insults for his co-star if it was not so early in the morning and Tauriel had not slammed the production notes file down on the table.

"We'll move onto the story." Tauriel took a deep breath and told herself that this was only the preliminary actor briefing. The production meetings were going to be worse. Probably. "So we start out with Azog killing a lot of people, dwarves, elves, etcetera. Fake blood all over the place--"

"Um, if they're doing fake blood, could they not use that red dye they used previously?" Azog asked. "It really stains and Dori had to use a tonne of white greasepaint to cover it up the last time."

Bard looked up from the script at this. "The last time?" 

"Yeah, I get stabbed at the end of . . . most of the shows," Azog informed Bard. "Sorry, that was a spoiler, right?"

"It's not a spoiler if it happens at the end of most of the shows you're in," Will pointed out.

"I get to stab him at the end of _Horny Hobbits V_ , according to the last draft of the script I got," Bilbo said. “And I stabbed him at the end of _Defiler III_.”

"I stabbed him at the end of _Bitter Smithing II_ ," Thorin offered.

Lindir put up his hand. "Erm, I was the extra who stabbed him at the end of _Defiler I_."

He shrugged as the others looked at him. "One of the elf extras didn't show up. Elrond said that he wasn’t going to drag the shoot out any longer."

“I was the stunt guy who stabbed him at the end of _Defiler II_ ”, Nori volunteered as he passed through with a stack of prop axes. He had a good side-line going--theatre prop rentals were actually in demand by shows that did not want to splurge on a heap of items they might never use again. Thranduil was all right with it so long as Nori kept the overheads down and did not ask for a raise.

"It's a miracle your character is still alive," Bard said wryly to Azog.

"I'm really good at acting out death scenes now," Azog said seriously. "I couldn't really act when I first started."

Bilbo mouthed _he’s also got a dick the size of a salami_ at Bard when Azog was not looking and held his hands about a foot apart. Popular characters had immortality, a thing that pornos and big movies had in common. Bard nodded slowly in a considering fashion.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Tauriel said, glaring everyone into submission after making a note to the make-up and props department about the fake blood. “Exposition happens, people die, Thorin looks devastated in the middle of a ruined mine, Bard looks devastated in the middle of a ruined town, Galris the elf looks devastated in the middle of a ruined forest--well that might be a bit too much devastation in the first ten minutes of a porno . . .”

“Maybe Thrandy can get the writers to move the second bit of devastation back?” Rori suggested. “Or see how it looks if they put Bard and the elf’s part further along in the plot?”

"Right, right, note for too much exposition in beginning,” Tauriel said, scribbling down some points. Actually sensible suggestions she could live with. “Then it switches to a more present time with Bilbo and Thorin, a hobbit and a dwarf that happen to meet while Thorin is a wandering blacksmith, they shag--"

"Over an anvil?"

"We've already done the over an anvil thing. Anvil included even. They shag in the open, under a star-lit sky--"

"What, has Thrandy got out of work romance novelists working for him now?

Tauriel prayed to the Valar for patience. "This is as painful for me to read as it is for you to hear. Now back at the gay sausage-fest, you two shag and have an epic summer romance before Thorin fucks off and goes somewhere else.”

No-one was surprised to find out that that bit really was typed out in the script.

“Thrandy needs to work on the details, I see,” Bilbo said, rightly interpreting the vague bits.

“And then Bilbo meets Galris the elven hunter . . .” Tauriel reread that last line and sighed. “. . . while hunting.”

“Hunting what?” Azog asked. “Not orcs, I hope. That’s a bit too much violence in a porn movie. And I know there’s going to be a big battle at the end where I probably die.”

“Deer, peasant--something to eat,” Haldir supplied, really getting into it now that he could develop his own backstory for his character. “But he can kill too if pressed.”

“Aren’t you elves _vegetarians_?” Thorin asked, the caffeine finally kicking in.

“No--whatever gave anyone that idea?” Haldir looked around at the assembled cast and at Tauriel quizzically.

“Don’t ask me. Lots of people have the idea that we’re a bunch of vegan tree-dwellers that eat leaves all the time and commune with nature a lot,” Tauriel said with a shrug. “I tried the ovo-lacto-vegetarian diet three hundred years ago, but it didn’t work out. Legolas managed it for a thousand years before moving on to fish though.”

“That’s epic,” Haldir murmured. “He’s always got to be able to outlast everyone else.”

“Enough about that--we’ve established that Galris the elf is a hunter of deer--”

“--and orcs,” Haldir added.

“I read ahead,” he confessed as everyone turned towards him. “He becomes a hunter of orcs after they devastated and burned his forest home.”

“That’s a bit cliché even by revenge story standards.”

“It’s _niche_ porn. We have a fan-base and it’s popular among viewers of porn across various demographics for various reasons.” Tauriel flipped over another page. "Cue meeting of main characters, heroic side quest for . . . something magical or of historical importance."

"Wot? It's not specified?" Will asked incredulously.

"Not really, but you shag at some point," Tauriel replied, sighing inwardly at the script direction that really did go _"and they shag at some point"_. “Then there’s a meeting of all the main characters, a battle and then an orgy--details to be confirmed.”

"Stands to reason, totally expected an orgy in a porno, but context is important," Rori huffed.

“Right, Thranduil said you can all work on your lines with each other,” Tauriel said brightly. "So you can come up with your own context."

“You mean he hasn’t got them written them yet, right? We actually have to _write_ our own lines?”

“Creative license?” Tauriel threw up her arms. “Don’t blame me--I’m just an underpaid assistant.”

"Yes, and we love and admire you for putting up with Thrandy," Bilbo said patiently, "but we haven't a clue what we've got to work with here."

"Yeah, wot if we want ta shag an Ent? Do we even have an Ent?" Will demanded even as the others rolled their eyes.

"Well, I could knock up a mechanical--" Bofur began from his corner of the studio.

"I'll get Thranduil and Elrond to approve any . . . additions. No promises of _any_ mechanical Ents," Tauriel said, shooting a warning look at Bofur. Their prop-master had always been itching to display his skills but there had never been much scope for them in pornos. Or any budget for that matter. They had allocated most of the budget to hiring actors and extras for Thranduil's epic porno to end all epic pornos.

Speaking of their producer, he chose that moment to appear in a wine-red satin robe with an exasperated-looking Elrond in tow.

“Briefing all done? Good,” Thranduil said before Tauriel could do anything other than nod.

Bilbo, who was always willing to use his status as a shareholder to voice their issues to the producer, got up at once. “ _Good_? We haven’t got anything but a skeleton of a script! A fleshless skeleton, I might add. How in the world are we going to make this work?”

“I thought of that, of course. And I do keep my promises. We’re all going to Mirkwood for a retreat as a reward for our win the AVAs,” Thranduil announced with a flourish that caused Elrond to duck reflexively as a glittering sleeve flashed past. “You can get started on your scripts there.”

And then he swept out dramatically, leaving everyone flabbergasted in his wake. As usual.

“Can he do that?” Bard wondered aloud.

“Yes, he can, oddly enough.” Tauriel handed out itineraries for the retreat briskly. “For those requiring transport, please do get back to me before the end of today.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Bilbo muttered. “At least we can take advantage of his booze cellar.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Earlier that week . . ._

”We’re not sure if we can find a feature for you . . .” Thranduil began, placing one hand on the file in front of him. They had not been in the market for new hires, but Bard Girionsson had a certain . . . _something_ about him.

"I've got three children to feed!" Bard confessed. “I even tried White Tower!”

"What? I thought you weren’t into that sort of rough stuff?" The producer nudged his portfolio meaningfully. There had been some pretty risqué stuff in there, but not quite the kind of hardcore that White Tower was into.

"I did a bunch of stuff while I was paying off my guild fees. Even did some photo shoots for romance novel covers and stock photos for grocery money. And I'm bisexual, so I tried a lot of studios."

Tauriel covered her surprise behind a file--she had thought that he looked familiar. And that explained why the cover of _Passion's Pirate_ and _Vampiric Visions_ featured very similar looking men smouldering over their swooning paramours. Not that she was _ever_ going to admit her one guilty pleasure of borrowing cheesy romance novels and hiding them under plain covers to read on public transport. They still had more plot than a MirkWOOD Studios' production though.

"Oh. Well, that sounds promising. Won't your wife and family object?" Thranduil asked. He read through all the forms before interviews--most people were surprised that someone actually did read all the application forms they had filled up. But Thranduil had not survived over five thousand years without learning a thing or two about being a canny bastard camouflaged behind peroxide and flashy clothes.

"My wife might if she was still alive, but I think she's more likely to complain about not having enough money for school books and health insurance," Bard said. "Dock workers and river men don't get much."

"Ah, there was a strike on last month too," Balin said sympathetically. Single parenthood was something that a number of people at the studio had experienced at times.

"I collect empties from the riverside pubs for recycling when I have the time too, but that yields very little." Bard looked down at his worn coat and scruffy trousers in embarrassment. "Might try White Tower next."

Thranduil tried not to catch Balin and Gloin's eyes as they looked at him and tried to appeal to his better nature. Ugh, _emotions_ and all that messy stuff. He was not made of money . . . but perhaps Bard was willing to work the longer hours required for the productions that MirkWOOD Studios specialised in.

"Very well then. We do have a few roles in some of our upcoming features that might need more actors," he sighed. This generosity was going to be the end of him. But he was a single dad and he did feel some sort of empathy for someone who had three kids to support on their own.

And it was probably a moral obligation to save people from White Tower Productions anyhow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“All right, everyone gather around--admin meeting,” Tauriel called, causing everyone to look up from where they were trying to come up with lines to say before and after the sex scenes and building props. It was just a couple of days before the retreat and most were trying to get things done so that they could kick back while enjoying Thranduil’s wine cellar and his hospitality. 

“We’ve got an assistant director to help out. Elrond’s bringing her in now.” At this announcement, everyone craned their necks to look. As obliging as Gollum was, having a second option for an AD was really appealing to most people right now.

This was because Elrond had demanded a new AD to vet all their new ideas after Thranduil let the cast loose on the script. 

Elrond was not really that happy when he found out who Thranduil hired in the end, but he acquiesced in the end--with the usual grumbling. The new addition was at ease in the studio and familiar to some of the crew.

"This is Arwen, she'll be AD when Gollum has a day off and . . . whenever he’s not well enough to come in," Elrond said with the expression of someone having wisdom tooth extraction surgery instead of a proud father watching his daughter follow in his footsteps. "And if you little shits give her any problems, she'll shove a camera lens up where the sun does not shine."

Arwen did not look like an elf that would carry out a threat like that. She smiled pleasantly at them and said, “Oh Dad, don’t scare them off. Anyway, I know Bilbo and some of the others.”

“And remember--”

“Don’t mention White Tower in front of Gollum, right, Dad.” Arwen smiled sunnily at the cast. “So who’s completed their section of the script? We can keep working on it at the retreat if you haven’t decided on what you’re going to do.”

“Better you than me,” Tauriel mouthed at Arwen on the way to Thranduil’s office. She had enough on her hands organising the retreat at her employer’s vast estate. As usual, her job scope eclipsed her salary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, after much cajoling and actual physical lifting at one point, Tauriel had everyone that did not drive or ride a warg ferried over to Mirkwood. The logistical nightmare was not so bad there as Thranduil had people there to help organise the event.

Thranduil's ancestral estate was located in a quiet and isolated forest of the same name. It did not have a great reputation after a spell as a rehabilitation centre for the mentally unwell and was a bit too out of the way for some of the crew to stay the night.

Bard and a few of the others had families to tend to. Bilbo and Thorin could stay--this was mainly because Bilbo had more pleasant memories of the place and Dis wanted her brother out of the way because she was painting the house and getting ready for their annual Durin's Day celebrations. Gollum vanished off into the forest the moment the bus doors opened. Azog was pleased to have space for his warg to run about in and the promise of subterranean caverns to explore. Everyone else looked much more positive about staying when Tauriel fired up the massive grill on the back terrace and Thranduil had various casks and bottles brought up from the legendary cellars.

"To collaboration," Thranduil said, rising the wineglass in his hand--his fifth, apparently.

"Good thing you bribed them with food and alcohol--you'll never hear the end of it otherwise," Bilbo commented as he watched WiIl and Rori arguing about the done-ness of their steaks. Thranduil's outdoor grill was large enough for several people to cook at the same time.

"A little grease to oil the way and some alcohol for inspiration. Mirkwood itself is very inspiring." Thranduil waved a hand at the wooded estate grandiosely. It was a lot prettier at night when they had the lanterns up and a few fireflies put on an appearance.

"I'm pretty sure it's the mushroom spores from that particular variety with the yellow spots." Bilbo still remembered certain episodes that started with mushroom hunting and ended with him wondering what he was doing semi-naked in the woods. “But yes, greasy food helps too.”

The retreat looked like it was going splendidly, grease and all. Judging by the amount of booze the cast and crew were consuming, they might be able to finish off the cellar supplies before the end of their stay.

Heartened by the fact that elves were not hardcore vegans, everyone attacked the food with a will. Though Dori had to kick Nori a couple of times to stop him from nicking the cutlery to keep in practice.

Azog had been drafted to turn the spit holding racks of ribs dripping sauce and large haunches of venison as he was too good natured to object. Winifred, his warg, sat nearby and stared at people until they threw her scraps and bones. Her rider was also lovingly grilling rare steaks for her.

“We should feature the warg,” Thranduil said suddenly. “Get some good shots of the warg running around the forest to put in between the sex scenes.”

Of all the times for the elf to have a brainwave . . . 

Bilbo studied the contents of his glass intently. “You can tell Elrond that.”

“You want _me_ to tell an elf that spent _seven_ years in the wilderness filming wargs in their natural habitat that we’re featuring wargs in a porno as a filler?”

“Your idea, your studio and your testy director,” Bilbo said pragmatically. “Cheers, Thrandy! I’m sure Elrond will agree after a few bottles of the good stuff.”

Bilbo toasted Thranduil semi-ironically and meandered off to mingle with the rest of the cast and crew in the semi-naturalistic back terrace. He was actually rather fond of Arwen after his stay at Rivendell.

“How’re things back at home? Has the Boyfriend settled in yet?” he asked as he leaned up against a tree-trunk that was almost level with the ground. Arwen was perched on the natural depression in the main trunk that formed a kind of organic bench--Mirkwood was famous for its living furniture.

“Aragorn’s fine--still working as a stunt-rider and part-time forest ranger.” The Boyfriend was her human beau and a former foundling of Elrond’s. Which was weird and oddly touching because she practically watched him grow up and loved him all the same. “He brings me souvenirs and pictures of horses when he visits.”

“Obviously knows the way to your heart then.” Arwen, like most of her family, loved riding and like most elves, loved forests. However, there had to be something more about him because imagining the dour-faced ranger lecturing campers about the dangers of forest-fires was enough to put a smile on Arwen’s face.

Each to their own, Bilbo supposed.

“And how have you been? Still working on the book?” she asked. Bilbo had decided that if anyone was going to edit his memoirs, it was going to be Arwen. She could be trusted not to laugh outright at some episodes and could probably take care of publishing it if he decided to do it posthumously.

“It’s coming along.” Bilbo nibbled on a bit of pineapple on his kebab and waved the stick airily. “Will have another chapter for you to look at soon--it’s a very exciting part.” 

“Oh? What is it about?” 

“It’s about me going back home and discovering that my no-good relatives tried to seize my inheritance.” Bilbo paused and looked up at her. “That’s why I might want to publish it when there’s no chance they’ll sue me--the truth looks really ugly even retrospectively.”

“Revisiting that episode must be exhausting.” Elves seldom had the kind of familial disputes that Bilbo and the Sackville-Bagginses had on a regular basis. Arwen and her brothers had been suitably horrified and intrigued by Bilbo’s retelling of his family feud. “And all that trouble over some knives and forks--”

She was interrupted by someone swearing in Elvish. It was a very familiar voice too.

“Ah,” Bilbo said happily as he craned his neck to get a better view down the terrace. “It’s starting.”

“What are they arguing about?” Elven hearing was great and their ability to lip read was pretty good. Which was why Arwen could tell that really nasty--for elves--words were being exchanged.

“Thrandy just suggested that we film Azog’s warg for fillers to Elrond.”

“Oh dear,” Arwen sighed and got up to intervene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Lunar New Year~


	7. Almost (but not quite there yet) the Making of Defiler IV: The Battle of the Five Armies (the script)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There Is A Semi-Surreal Conversation About Soup In the Middle of This Chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From: Bilbo Baggins_  
 _To: Legolas Greenleaf_

 _You missed the fun in Mirkwood last night. Elrond almost went for your dad._

_From: Legolas Greenleaf_  
_To: Bilbo Baggins_

_Oh hell. What did my dad do now?_

_From: Bilbo Baggins_  
_To: Legolas Greenleaf_

_He suggested that Elrond film wargs as fillers for his next porno epic. Arwen put a stop to it before anyone got overly violent though._

_From: Legolas Greenleaf_  
_To: Bilbo Baggins_

_Did you encourage him to do that?_

_From: Bilbo Baggins_  
_To: Legolas Greenleaf_

_I need to have some fun sometimes you know~_

_From: Legolas Greenleaf_  
_To: Bilbo Baggins_

_Schadenfreude is so unbecoming of you_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From: Dori Florisson_  
_To: Nori Nolastnameshere_

_You left early last night. I hope there’ll be no problems involving vanishing cruet sets._

 

 _From: Nori Nolastnameshere_  
_To: Dori Florisson_

_I didn’t nick the cruet set. I have standards! I don’t steal form my employers!_

_From: Dori Florisson_  
_To: Nori Nolastnameshere_

_Standards my arse. You also rent out your employer’s props!_

_From: Nori Nolastnameshere_  
_To: Dori Florisson_

_Rentals ain’t theft. Anyways, the armour’s getting all worn and dented in that Shakespearean play down the road--renting it out ages it a treat._

_From: Dori Florisson_  
_To: Nori Nolastnameshere_

_You have no shame._

_From: Nori Nolastnameshere_  
_To: Dori Florisson_

_You already knew that~_

____

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dim light that filtered through the vast trees around the old estate the next morning was just right for people recovering from hangovers. Even Bilbo did not manage to eat first breakfast until nine-thirty--a record for him and possibly all hobbit-kind.

Wrapped up in a dressing gown that left a train long enough to trail behind him like a cloak, Bilbo made his way through the palatial pile and finally found the breakfast room--one of the many rooms where their host could billet his guests. 

“Don’t bother to get up,” he croaked grandiosely at the few occupants of the dining room. No-one looked up from their coffee and porridge as he swanned in, trailing two feet of excess fabric and a hangover. 

Muttering about the height of the buffet table, Bilbo managed to secure tea for himself and avoided the mounds of sausages, eggs, bacon and fried fish on display--his hobbit ancestors would have been ashamed. Perhaps after he had pacified his queasy stomach with some plain toast and tea . . . 

Thranduil, the rat bastard, looked like he stepped out of a commercial for hair products as he rode past the dining room’s tall windows on his elk. “That was an inspiring night--I expect you’re all brimming over with good ideas.” 

Bilbo mumbled something, still not quite up to bringing the pointy end of his sass onto the elf when his head was feeling as though the damned elk had trodden on it. 

“Anyhow, drinks and snacks are available all around the clock to get the creative juices going. You’ll have to find your own elk. Or tree. The oldest ones are the best,” Thranduil said airily, leaving behind puzzled glances in his wake as his elk trotted down the great sweeping expanse of terrace. 

Anyone not in the know about Thrandy’s creative process would have thought that there were not-quite legal pharmaceuticals on offer besides the many and varied drinks and snacks available in Mirkwood. 

“Once a tree-shagger . . .” Bilbo muttered into his steaming cup of Earl Grey (Bree Special Blend). He would not have minded something for the hangover. Or the hair of the Warg that bit him. But alas, he was not young and wild anymore . . . Self-honesty made him consider his career in a very niche part of the personal home entertainment industry. Not _that_ wild at any rate. 

He managed to swallow some eggs with toast around the same time Thorin came in for a full breakfast with all the works. Bilbo had to close his eyes when the dwarf started on his kippers. Nothing, not even Thorin Oakenshield’s hirsute magnificence at ten in the morning, could make eating fish sexy. 

“Not eating?” Bilbo peered blearily at the dwarf opposite. Apparently his lack of an appetite was something of note. 

“Not half as capable of surviving one of Thranduil’s parties without a hangover as he used to be,” Tauriel quipped in passing. Bilbo pretended to throw a crust at her. 

“Oh yeah, laugh it up--not everyone has the luxury of a few thousand years to develop immunity to alcohol,” Bilbo grumbled. 

“You could just avoid it,” Thorin said with the smugness of a dwarf that had stuck to one shandy and followed up with carefully nursed wine coolers throughout the previous evening. 

“And miss putting a dent in Thrandy’s champagne supply? I think not,” Bilbo sniffed. “Besides, it’s supposedly good for the creative process . . . Which we have to get moving on today.” 

“I suppose we should start on that dialogue thing soon,” Thorin said after masticating his way through a very greasy mouthful of mushrooms and sausage. 

“Yeah, how hard can it be?” Bilbo asked, inevitably dooming them both to writer’s block. 

“Eh, sure--do you need time to get changed first?” 

“Oh no I’m good to go--I write in my dressing gown all the time at home,” Bilbo said grandiosely, therefore setting himself up for a fall when he tripped over the hem of the over-long robe and measured his not-that-impressive-length across the carpet in the hallway. 

Bilbo decided that he would change into his regular clothes after all before meeting Thorin on the lawn for fresh air. 

A shower and a proper grooming got him back on track. Bilbo settled his fawn-trouser-clad bottom on Thrandy’s cushioned wicker lawn furniture and prayed that none of the plants he was allergic to were within pollen-spreading range. “Right, what’re we doing first? Or rather, what are our characters doing first?” 

That set-up was wasted on Thorin Oakenshield. Rori or Will would have chimed in with "Other than each other?" right away. 

“The set-up,” Thorin said, scratching at his hairline with the edge of his pen and did not see Bilbo's facepalm. He was just about as comfortable with writing a pornographic script as he was with boating--as in not at all. 

The set-up--also known as the hyper-cheesy plot where the protagonists meet before getting down to business. It would have been easier if it had been the typical rugged plumber or blacksmith come to fix something in the hobbit’s hole (ha--that sort of thing practically writes itself). Which would inevitably lead to sex and then more sex with the inventive use of common household objects as sex toys. 

After a few minutes of staring at sheets of blank paper, Bilbo referred back to the notes that Tauriel had photocopied for them. “Erm, first meeting between my character and yours. Scene--someplace in the Shire.” 

"Not in the smithy--we've already done that." Bilbo still had very vivid memories of being buggered over an anvil. And thought Thorin had drawn a line at using a prop set hammer as a sex toy, there had been no restriction on the handles of weapons. 

Thorin coughed. "Then what do you suggest we do?" 

"How about . . . the kitchen?" Bilbo suggested hesitantly. Food preparation areas were as sacred to hobbits as anvils were to dwarves. Though everyone knew what happened to the anvil in _A Banging in the Smithy_. And Bilbo certainly had some fond memories of kitchens and freshly whipped cream from his youth . . . 

“A mock kitchen, of course.” Bilbo filed away nostalgic thoughts of warm strawberry pie--and their adorable little lattice crusts--and tried to get his mind back on track. If it really came down to a contest, food would beat sex for him any day. 

"Of course," Thorin echoed. "And?" 

"Erm . . . cake batter? Sandwiches?" Bilbo was definitely feeling slightly peckish as lunch hour approached. He had not had elevenses yet--such was the price one paid for working regular hours even while on a retreat. 

"Always with the food. It'll be messy," Thorin grumbled. "And not raw cake batter." 

Bilbo tried to focus in spite of his demanding tummy. "Right, too much risk of _Salmonella_ poisoning . . . Ice-cream? I could suck on an ice lolly in suggestive manner . . ." 

"So my character gets reeled in by an ice lolly fellatio. So what does that lead to?" Thorin did a splendid impression of someone contributing while not actually doing anything much. After all the hobbit had more experience than he had with these things . . . or so he rationalised. Thorin was not good at initiating anything and had not the faintest clue as to how anyone would go about prepositioning someone after meeting them for a scant five minutes. 

“My character tries to cook for his guest, of course, because he’s got manners even though he’s horny.” Bilbo got more enthused as he penned down the idea. “So he gives his guest a taste of his . . . erm, stew? Soup? Soup’s hardly sexy is it?” 

Thorin agreed that soup was not particularly sexy even though he was partial to soup. “It’s still an idea we can work with.” 

“Well, if it was a good soup it might remind the dwarf of better things,” Bilbo mused. He was very partial to a good soup--perhaps there would be soup at lunch if they could finish this up in time to get some. Thrandy's chef was excellent. 

“So it’s more like the warrior character getting seduced by the idea of comfort--” 

“Represented by the soup, yes.” Caught up in the spirit of things, Bilbo scribbled away industriously. “That’s pretty good--they’re both starving for something--” 

“--and it’s not just soup.” Thorin was surprised by his contribution. It sounded almost . . . poetic. If only it was not about the beginnings of a torrid affair in a fantasy porno. 

“So they start snogging after my character lets him taste the soup and we’ll work out the logistics of kitchen sex later,” Bilbo said triumphantly. They would have something to show Arwen later after all. 

Thorin actually felt a moment of pity for the elf that had to edit all this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   
“--and then there’s this orc--” Rori was practically bouncing off the chair in his excitement.

“A very threatening orc,” Will chipped in. 

“Yeah, a very threatening orc--an’ he has this club--” 

“A huge club--” 

“As long as I’m tall--” 

“So there is a fight scene?” Arwen asked with the patience of an elf faced with two easily-excited hobbits. Lunch was an hour away and so far only one or two ideas had been workable. 

“Yeah--an’ we’ve got these moves worked out--” 

“I’m afraid that might make this particular scene too long,” she said diplomatically. Arwen projected nothing beyond polite interest despite the fact that her current job was about editing parts of a script cobbled together by amateurs. Very obvious amateurs. 

“Ah . . .” Will looked sideways at Rori. 

“So no mechanical Ents then?” 

“No, Rori, I’m afraid we can’t fit that into your five minutes of exposition time,” Arwen continued patiently. Poor Bofur was always slightly crushed when he was told that his next mechanical wonder was not likely to fit into the scene. She was going to have to disappoint him next. 

“Wot? Only five minutes?” 

“Yes, Will--that’s because you have another fifteen minutes for the sex scene.” 

“The sex scene?” 

“The sex scene.” Arwen looked over her notes at the pair of hobbits, and sure enough, Rori and Will were giving each other sheepish looks. 

“Ah, well . . . we’ll get back to you on that soon.” 

“Yeah, really soon.” 

Arwen checked another meeting off her calendar and prepared to have to edit a lot of unnecessary dialogue. She could feel her perfect hair becoming more frizzled by the second. Some texting was in order. Provided her boyfriend was in signal range at the moment . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
 _To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

 _Hi, had your lunch yet?_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_Not yet. Currently in pursuit of a group of hikers that may have lost their way. How is your day going?_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_Splendid. Dad is sulking after a tiff with Thranduil and I am currently editing scripts written by porn actors_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_That sounds wonderful, dear. You’ll have to fill me in after I get these people back to base camp_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_Your day sounds fantastic so far~ Make sure to lecture them about staying on the path_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In stark contrast to how his daughter was spending her late morning, Elrond crept out of bed, scowled at the sunlight filtering through the thick foliage and wrapped himself up in the tattered remnants of his dignity before sallying forth into the breakfast room.

Upon finding the elves present adding something from a bottle to their orange juice while cheerfully exchanging haircare tips, Elrond grabbed a croissant and dumped three cups of espresso into a large glass with milk before scarpering off. 

Sometimes the company of one’s own kind could be very trying. Especially the younger generation--the Third Agers, or whatever they were calling themselves now. They knew they were young (for elves), beautiful and practically immortal. Hence they were annoying little know-it-alls with perfect hair with barely two millennia under their designer cruelty-free belts. 

Except for Arwen, of course. His daughter was an example of all that was good in the world that was under three thousand years old. Now if only Arwen’s grandmother wasn’t such a--Elrond had to mentally censor himself then--and her scruffy boyfriend wasn’t all too human, it would all have been perfect. 

Chewing on a breakfast pastry and his own apron strings, Elrond wandered outside. He always did feel better in a forest. Unfortunately, his keen hearing soon picked up the sound of something plastic shattering. 

Turning the corner, he found himself confronted by a scene containing one elk, the Master of Mirkwood and several of his retainers engaged in clay target shooting with a difference. 

“Pull!” 

In place of clay discs, DVD discs of White Tower Productions were being slung into the air. Thranduil’s assistant for the day had a pile of shucked DVD covers next to him as he operated the trap. 

The unerring aim exhibited by Thranduil wielding a crossbow was another difference. He set the crossbow aside and reached for a Mimosa on a silver tray. 

“Oh stop sulking and have a Bellini.” Thranduil tossed his blond mane back and flapped his other silk-clad arm at the drinks trolley that was usually no more than five feet away from him while in Mirkwood. His butler started mixing and Elrond was soon abandoning his sulk for a nice cold cocktail with real peach puree and a nasty-looking crossbow. 

"Pull!" 

Even after a thousand years or two, Elrond was pleased to discover that he could still aim a crossbow one-handed. 

"Oh good shot," Thranduil said without any sarcasm what so ever. 

“That was actually cathartic for a moment,” Elrond said as he watched the fragments of plastic rain down. 

"Why do you think I do it?" Thranduil gestured at his assistant and took aim. "Two for one now." 

Elrond watched with a new appreciation for the producer as a single bolt took out two discs launched at once. 

"You did buy up all these DVDs though," he felt obliged to point out. 

"Or did I?" Thranduil said with a sly smile. "Some places let me have their bargain bin items for the spare change in my assistant's pocket." 

"Nice one. My turn now--load it up." Elrond hefted his crossbow. "I've got another dinner with my mum in law this weekend and I just can't wait . . . to get plastered before meeting her." 

"Oh dear--another Bellini?" 

Sometimes, Elrond reflected, Thrandy wasn't that bad for an absolute wanker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So no mechanical Ents then?” Bofur's face was a picture. A slightly sad but very expressive picture that Arwen wanted to paint but she wasn't insensitive.

“I’m sorry, Bofur, but five minutes for a side-quest and fifteen minutes more for Will and Rori to get it on does not leave much room for an Ent,” Arwen said apologetically. Bofur had looked so hopeful as well. She hoped that he did not have the makings of a mechanical Ent somewhere in his garage or basement. 

“Ah, forget about it.” Bofur shrugged good-naturedly. “I’ll save the design for that Forests of Fangorn feature that Thrandy’s got on the backburner someplace. Thanks for listenin’. An’ looking at my plans.” 

“It’s a very detailed schematic,” Arwen said, straight-faced as only an elf could be. “And I’m sure that Will and Rori will appreciate all the thought you put into it.” 

“Yeah--I tried to make it feasible and comfortable, yet sexy.” Bofur rolled his blueprints up and replaced them in their canister. “As far as an Ent can be sexy.” 

“I can definitely see that. Some trees can be . . . quite sexy, yes.” Arwen tried very hard not to think about the stories her parents had told her about Ents and checked off another meeting on her schedule. "Thank you for seeing me, Bofur."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
 _To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

 _You might find the idea of a mechanical Ent amusing_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_That would depend on what it was being used for_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_Oh whatever do you mean by that?_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_Surely you don’t mean that it’s just an innocent bystander in Thranduil’s projects?_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_Well of course you know what it’ll be used for. That’s Thranduil for you_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_Given how long Ents take to do anything, I imagine it would be more than just a little uncomfortable after the first day_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_You’ve got a nasty imagination for a Forest Ranger_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_I actually know how nasty nature can get_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_You’ll have to entertain me with some of those stories after this retreat is over and I can get away from editing these scenes_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_As my lady wishes_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Soup,” Arwen said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, to invoke a homely feel to scene.” Bilbo was inordinately proud of himself. Thorin had contributed, but it was still mostly his idea. 

“You’ll have to be careful--hot liquids aren’t anyone’s friend on set,” Arwen cautioned. 

“What, does that mean it’s _approved_?” Thorin looked more surprised than Bilbo felt was warranted. It had not been that bad an idea! 

“Of course it is, after a few revisions. If you don’t mind, Bilbo,” Arwen said, pandering to the hobbit’s ego. “I was thinking it might be better if your character had a lovely hearth fire going in the evening. With the pot of soup simmering on it. Then they can spoon on the hearth rug afterwards.” 

“Darling girl, that sounds much safer than banging about in a kitchen!” Bilbo looked over at Thorin for his opinion and received a shrug in response. 

“It’d probably look more romantic in the end,” the dwarf ventured. “Which is what you’re aiming for here, right?” 

“There’s a particular demographic that goes for that, yes,” Arwen said, mentally checking off one scene and the corresponding demographic that was into the softer, more emotional parts of the plot. “Good work,” she said encouragingly. 

She could stitch this to the beginning (no warg scenes) behind the proposed Dramatic Shots of Bard and Haldir's characters (being broody probably) as the first act. The prelude with angsty backstories was pretty much nailed down. At this rate, she might just make it to the end of the week with her sanity intact.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
 _To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

 _I need a drink. Several dozen drinks._

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_We’ll go get some this weekend_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_Rain-check. We’re having dinner with Grandmother this weekend_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_Oh. I could bring the drinks for later?_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_Please do. Dad might actually thank you for it_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_Is he going to start drinking before dinner?_

_From: Arwen Undomiel_  
_To: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_

_He always does. Says it makes his mind harder to read_

_From: Aragorn Son of Arathorn_  
_To: Arwen Undomiel_

_Sounds like a plan_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Worth her weight in gold,” Thranduil muttered as he sorted through the script revisions. “Don’t tell Elrond I said that.”

“Not a word,” Tauriel said, turning back to the laptop and rolling her eyes when her boss could not see her. "Oh, and the reminder just came up--Arwen's due for her day off tomorrow. So--" 

"Yes, I know. It's Gollum's turn," Thranduil said. "I'm sure he's coping. But give him a room with an open window in case he feels like bolting off into the forest again." 

"On it, boss." Tauriel made a note, fiddled with a pen and cleared her throat. "And about my--" 

"Oh that, well, we'll discuss that after this money-sucking endeavour is over, my dear," Thranduil announced, quickly standing up and heading for the door. "Now toodles--I need to see a man about renting horses~" 

Tauriel swore under the breath and resolved to unpick the hem of his favourite coat the next time she was sent out to fetch clothes from the drycleaners.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rori cleared his throat. “So um, they find this magical thing--”

“Oh, I know! A ring!” Gollum said enthusiastically from where he was perched on the desk. The room that served as an AD's office had a nice big window right by the desk in case Gollum wanted some space to himself. 

“Yeah, but seeing as this is a porno, it’s probably a cockring.” 

“And then they hunt for the precious?” 

Will shuffled his feet. “Well, they haven’t exactly lost it . . .” 

"So where is the precious?" 

"It's on--well the guardian of the ring is wearing it. Or the villain, we don't know yet." Having Gollum's large eyes focused on him was making it a bit difficult to get the idea across, but Will soldiered on, holding up the paper he had been working on as a sort of shield. "So they have to get the ring off the guardian--" 

"Or the bad guy--" 

"Right, or the bad guy. Cue porn scene." 

"Wow," Gollum said at last, "you've actually come up with a fantasy plot device that works in the context of a porno." 

"Or a porno plot device that works in the context of a fantasy?" 

Gollum held up one skinny finger in warning. "Do not push it--Gollum will definitely recommend your idea for the script. Seeing as it is the only workable suggestion to date to get the plot going." 

"For real?" 

After the hobbits left, Gollum wrote down a few notes and stuck it to the section of script that he had been given and marked down another meeting done. There was a lot of admin involved in this job and Thrandy definitely was trying to squeeze all of them for what they were worth. 

Eh, but it paid the bills. Gollum would get on with the fourth chapter of his yet untitled romantic fantasy novel during lunch break. With luck, he might be able to break past five hundred words and the hero might finally meet up with the heroine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
